


Beacon Moons

by Chevy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agent McCall is a moron, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't fuck with McCall Pack, Gen, Kira Yukimura is awesome okay, Written Pre-Season 3B, language warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chevy/pseuds/Chevy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The McCall Pack is establishing itself in Beacon Hills as the Nemeton attracts all manner of the big, bad and ugly, including one Agent Rafael McCall, who is up against too many unanswered questions and the searing dislike of his son's friends. He tries to solve the mystery of Beacon Hills and close the chasm between himself and his son, but he's never faced a anything like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Job

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a transfer from my Fanfiction account ( C.Watherston, if you're interested)

Agent McCall didn't quite know what the hell to expect as he and the Deputy piled out of the car.

"Do you think we should call for back-up? Or animal control?" Deputy Ryan asked.

McCall was eyeing the debilitated warehouse where someone had reported something big causing property damage. He was about to announce his thought that the call was a damn hoax when an ear-bleeding, skin-rending shriek ripped through the air, followed quickly by the rapidly approaching roar of a vehicle. The Deputy and McCall were driven to their knees by the first sound, and then a frantic shout that could have been human had McCall on his feet again. Something smashed through the wall of the warehouse and piled out in shattering chaos.

"Hey!" McCall shouted instinctively as a body emerged from beneath the rubble. His gun nearly dropped out of his suddenly numb fingers as the figure whirled around; it's eyes were glowing pale blue, it's almost human body hunched over, claws and fangs- That was all McCall had time to see before something huge plunged out of the gaping, jagged hole in the side of the building, terrible shrieks following it out. He covered his ears with effort, trying to keep his gun in his hand as he stumbled back against his SUV. The Deputy bunched in at his side, shouting something incomprehensible. The animal-man-thing spun around to face...

"What the fuck is that?!" shouted McCall, eyes blown wide.

 

"Jesus, not again!" Ryan bellowed, firing towards the melee.

The first of the unidentified _things_ —all leather and wings and bones, a dripping, needle-toothed maw and slitted eyes—took suddenly to the air. The other creature roared, the sound so load and awful and animal it drove McCall and the Deputy to their knees. Squealing brakes tore their attention away from it as more bodies piled out of a familiar blue Jeep.

"Cora, help Derek! Stiles, check if they're alive!"

Was that...? No...how...it couldn't be...McCall refused to believe his  _son_ was in the middle of _this_ mess too!

There was more roaring and he twisted to watch as something like the blue-eyed beast leapt up the side of the building, a blur almost too fast to see, with the sound of metal tearing under keratin.

"Hey, you guys-oh _shit_!"

McCall turned aside again and found himself face-to-face with none other than Stiles Stilinski. He had a bleeding cut on his cheek, blood splattered on his filthy shirt, carrying a metal baseball bat, dented and splattered in something black and thick like tar.

"You've got to be _kidding_ me! I had a date! I had a date with a hot, single, relatively sane-" he cried, waving his arms and glaring at McCall. The Agent's head was spinning too much to reply, when Stiles' rant was cut off at the pass.

"Stiles hit the deck!" a female screamed, commanding and absolute.

The teenager rushed McCall, driving him into the ground just as something screamed down from above them, a blast of hot air and the reek of death, the whoosh of leathery wings. The Deputy screamed as he was lifted off the ground, metal scored in high-pitched protest as claws ran along the edge of the vehicle.

"Stiles, go!"

McCall identified the girl from the brief flash he saw of her from between the ground and Stiles' lean arm. The Argent girl, sporting one of those heavy-draw combat crossbows. Suddenly he was being hauled up and off his feet, shoved stumbled towards the warehouse.

"Wait, Ryan-"

"He's dead, move!"

It chilled him briefly into absolute stillness, the cold fury of the teenager's words. He'd recall that moment with a grimace for the rest of his life, because suddenly the winged monster was coming at them again, and there was a boy standing between him and it, swinging out with the baseball bat like a knight with a mighty sword; it connected with a sickeningly thick crunch, and the thing spun out like a race car on a wet corner. He didn't remember what movement took him from standing in the open to being crouched by the side of the warehouse, but he realised that Stiles was hurt a second later. The boy held a hand against his wet, red side and coughed, splattering blood against his hand. The bat lay by his side, a prominent bend in the thickest part of it.

"Jesus Chr-I'm calling 911"

Stiles gave him a completely incredulous look. "Are you serious-give me that!-"he snatched the phone out of his shaking hands and pitched it against the wall. Outside of their hideout, somebody shouted Stiles' name. "I'm fine, go help Scott!" he shouted over her shoulder, around the edge of the wall.

"Scott's here?!" McCall yelped, far less masculine and in control as he would have liked.

"I'm blaming this whole damn on Scott" Stiles muttered darkly, more to himself than in reply.

McCall gave a loud sound of protest, which was cut off by the sound of a round hitting the chamber. Stiles had just put one in the chamber of McCall's service weapon with practised ease.

"What the hell are you doing with-" Stiles was already speaking over the top of him, moving into a crouch and picking up his bat as he shoved the gun into McCall's gesturing hands.

"Shut up, shut up, just shut up! I don't have time to explain anything to you-" from across the expanse of the warehouse, there was a roar that shook the tin. Stiles swore. "Stay here! Stay quiet! And shoot anything that's not furry!"

He was scrambling to his feet even as he gave his orders in a zero-argument tone, the aluminium of the bat scraping on the asphalt in his scramble.

"What?! _Furry_?!" McCall shouted, pushing himself to his feet with one hand and tensing on the familiar butt of his gun. Stiles walked backwards a few steps, gesturing wildly.

"If it's got _wings_ , put a _bullet_ in it!"

There was a shriek, another crash of metal and body and the earth-shattering roar of the beast and Stiles whirled around just in time to see a tangled, messy rolling clutch of limbs and teeth pile off the roof of the neighbouring building and crash spectacularly to the ground. Then, quite suddenly, it was absolutely silent. Stiles sat down hard in the middle of the asphalt and stared at Derek and Isaac, staggering away from the corpse, covered from forehead to thigh in the creature's tar-like blood, chucky splatters of unmentionable gore, and brief, brilliant smears of their own blood. Derek shook, unmistakeably dog-like though Stiles disinclined to comment, and his face became human once more. Isaac bent over, catching his breath, and when he looked up again, his face had also returned to normal.

"You know, in a long, varied career of really, really gross, that-that is just...that's, just... gross"

Derek approached, frowning. "You're hurt"

"Yeaaa" Stiles stuck his right hand out, curling his left around the bloody claw marks that had torn through his shirt. Derek gripped his palm and hauled him to his feet. "We got bigger problems" he said as he jerked his head over his shoulder, where McCall was walking towards them, eyes glued on the mangled, leathery corpse, face white in the gloom.

"Great" Derek bit out sarcastically. Stiles clicked his fingers into a 'you-got-it' gun shape and spat out a mouthful of exertion-sticky spit and blood.

"You're disgusting" said Isaac, looking concerned as he picked up Stiles' bat and offered his shoulder. Stiles leaned into the support gratefully.

"What...what is that?" stammered McCall.

"Harpy. Maybe. Not actually too sure. It's all...gooey now anyways" replied Stiles in his knowing, offhand manner, waving a perfunctory hand in the general direction of the monster.

"So...then...wh...what the hell...?"

"Is everyone okay?!" 

Stiles kind of wished he had a camera for the look on McCall's face when Scott came limping through the ripped gap in the warehouse wall, followed by Cora and Allison. He paused briefly when he saw his father standing there, eyes narrowing. "What the hell is he doing here?" he demanded when he got closer. McCall started forward, angrily, trying to gain back some control for himself.

"Scott Graham McCall, what the hell is going on here?!" Scott held up a silencing hand with a quick, distracted frown—he looked like a parent with an annoying child—only to have it swatted away. The three werewolves growled and snarled in unison; McCall of course had no idea he'd just struck an Alpha in front of his pack and leaned into the teen's face.

"Don't put a hand up at me, young man-"

Isaac snarled again, louder this time, and flashed enough fang and beta-gold eyes that McCall went green and stumbled back a few steps. Scott shot a reprimanding look at his beta, but otherwise didn't react. He was looking at Stiles, who was trying not to look too impressed. Stiles straightened a little as he met Scott's gaze: a soldier to a general now.

"He was here with...-" he trailed off and stilled, like some of the constant vibrating energy under his skin was switched off. Scott cocked his head questioningly. Stiles cleared his throat and tried again; "-He was here with Deputy Ryan"

"Where-?" Stiles jerked his chin to the side, over McCall's shoulder. Scott followed his line of sight to the crumpled, mutilated remains and sucked in a breathe. Stiles unwound his arm from Isaac's shoulders and moved past him towards the body.

"Stiles, you're hurt..." Scott reached for his friend, only to have him shake him off.

"Dude, I know. I can feel it. It's bleeding"

Scott let his hand drop and glanced at Cora, who nodded and moved slowly after the human. For a moment he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Then he straightened and turned to McCall.

"Dad, you know nobody is going to believe you about anything tonight-"

The man gathered himself, fluffing up like an affronted bird and eyed Scott.

"Scott, think about what you're saying. I can _prove_ what I have seen tonight, and if you don't explain to me just what exactly you've gotten yourself into here, I will do something about that. Just what-who... _what_ is your friend here? How about you start there" he folded his arms as if this somehow made him the authority figure.

Scott blinked and his eyes were Alpha-red, crimson as fresh blood and glowing softly like embers in the murky night. McCall gasped and took a step back.

"You took a pretty hard knock to the head. I wouldn't believe... _anything_ you had to say. As a matter of fact, I don't think you even remember what happened here"

"That's a nice theory, Scott, but I didn't get hit in the-"

Scott's fist shot out and crunched into his father's temple, sending him crashing spectacularly to the ground. Allison let out a surprised sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and Isaac tried to smother a breathy chuckle into his fist. Derek cocked an eyebrow, but the corner of his lip ticked.

"That probably felt a lot better than it should've" Scott admitted, a little guiltily, but his voice broke into a small laugh when he glanced sideways at Allison's smiling face. He looked across at Stiles and Cora; she was tucked into his side, arms wrapped around his middle and if he squinted he could see black lines on her arm where she was sucking away at his pain. He let his shoulders relax slightly in relief; it had taken Stiles months to work up the courage to finally ask Derek's fierce little sister out, and it was just their luck to have a rabid whatever-the-hell-that-thing-was show up the night of their second date. He wiped his hands on his mud encrusted jeans and fished his phone out, putting it to his ear. The extent to which he was ignoring the unconscious figure at his feet made Isaac smile.

"Let's clean this mess up and go home" he said, his voice dropping into something like a tired, frustrated whine at the end. He acknowledged it with a smile as Derek rolled his eyes and moved off with Isaac towards the corpse.

"Hey, Mom...I'm fine, we're all...well, actually Stiles is kind of beat up, and I think he might need stitches...?...it was a harpy, or something. It's dead, anyway...yeah...no, Allison's here...yeah, tell Chris I'll drop her off...oh, okay...yeah, I'll call the Sheriff...hey, Mom?...-" he glanced back at Agent McCall. "-I might've, sort've, kind've...I punched Dad. And knocked him out...?...Yeah, okay, love you too"

"What'd she say?" asked Isaac, helping Allison with the container of gasoline from the back of the Jeep. If it was one thing they'd learned; if ripping a thing apart didn't kill it, burning it to a crisp sure as hell made sure it wasn't coming back.

Except for that one time with the phoenix...

" 'Good job' " commented Scott with a grin.


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent McCall has car trouble and a meeting with Beacon Hills local femme fatale.

Rafael McCall suddenly, vehemently, wishes he had never taken this goddamn job in Beacon Hills. Wishes he'd never convinced himself that his son needed him there, that the women he left could be in danger, that if she died he'd have to face the wide-eyed child he'd abandoned. He wished he had never stepped a toe over the county line of Beacon Hills. Stiles Stilinski and Scott were standing across the road with the Lahey boy, and he was standing beside his car outside the diner. As he looked between the slashed tires of his SUV and the three teenagers beside the Jeep across from him, Isaac flexed his hand obviously. Yellowed curves flashed at the apex of his fingers, and then disappeared behind his palm. He grinned, narrow and cold, at the fury McCall could feel taking over his features. Scott looked sideways at him, following McCall's gaze perhaps, and laughed. The three of them scrambled to get into the car as McCall stomped across the road. He could hear laughter from the back, and Stiles was bent over his steering wheel trying to turn the key, shoulders shaking. They all tried to smooth their faces over as he knocked on the passenger side window with the back of his knuckles. Scott wiped his smile into his hand and wound the window down.

"Can we help you, Officer? Or Agent? Or can I call you douche bag when you're off duty?" inquired Stiles.

Isaac chortled into his hand in the back seat. Scott smiled indulgently at his friends and then turned back to the window.

"Are you having car trouble?" he asked, mock sincerely.

"That is vandalism, and it is damaging federal property. I should haul all three of you downtown" he warned hotly. 

" 'Downtown', are you serious?! Wh-" Stiles' nose was screwed up like he smelt something bad, and his rant was stopped only by a short, meaningful glance from Scott. "Well, we've got places to be, so..." he drawled meaningfully. 

 

 "Look, Scott, I want to talk to you. Let's have lunch-" Rafael tried. 

"Let's not" Scott cut him off. 

McCall's knuckles paled briefly against the window ledge of the Jeep. Scott looked back at him steadily, his face blank of any emotion. 'Polite disinterest' was probably the closest thing to an actual expression. Inside the diner McCall knew his ex-wife was sitting with the Sheriff, sharing chilli fries and laughing, her black curls loose and easy around her shoulders. 

"Scott, I was just-" 

"You were just _what_?!-" Stiles leaned on the console, forcing Scott to sit back, and his eyes were dark and furious. "-Turning up at a diner twenty minutes from the station, following my Dad's cruiser, because him and Melissa are having lunch? Yeah right. We're leaving" He looked at Scott as if for permission. McCall's eyes narrowed at the silent gesture, and realised that Scott was still looking at him, appraisingly. Whatever it was he was looking for, he found it, because he turned to Stiles and nodded. 

"Fin-al-lee!" 

Stiles put the Jeep into gear and pulled forward, forcing McCall to step back or be run over. He stumbled a little on the pavement and watched the Jeep disappear down the street. When he looked up, the Sheriff was holding open the door for Melissa and caught his eye across the street. He stopped, glancing at the SUV's flat tires, then back at the Agent. He nodded, once, at McCall and then walked by Melissa's side towards the car park. 

It had been two weeks since the incident at the warehouse. Rafael nearly got himself landed on probation at the Bureau because he'd reared out of the ambulance, grabbed Sheriff Stilinski by the collar and started demanding answers. After a second complaint from the Sheriff's department—he'd put some heat on the coroner trying to get to the bottom of the 'animal attack' cause-of-death on one too many autopsy reports for him to swallow dry—he'd been ordered by his superior to cool his heels or to face suspension. So for the last three days, 'cooling his heels' had been exactly what Rafael had been doing. He sorted through endless amounts of paperwork in his borrowed shoe cupboard of an office, sifting for nuggets of truth through miles and miles of news reports, went over every witness report, spent hours on the phone and spent hours standing in silent, empty ex-crime scenes, mulling over questions. At night, he spent hours on his computer in his hotel room, running tentative internet searches and dreaming of glowing, golden eyes and human beasts. He told himself firmly that his son was obviously mixed up in some sort of gang, that there was some new strain of hallucinogenic drug on the market, but deep down he knew with the stone-cold gut instinct of a workaholic law enforcer that there was something much, much bigger at play here. Something that could turn over dozens of dead bodies, including two teenagers who had by some accounts fallen in with alleged murderer Derek Hale, one of only three survivors of the Hale homestead fire. 

The day after he spent four hours by the side of the road while someone came and changed all four of his tires, he found himself sitting at the local coffee dive, tucked into the corner with his tablet loaded with newspaper reports and a cup of strong black coffee. He was engrossed in a report of the kid who'd gone insane two years ago and held the Sheriff's department to gunpoint, cutting the throats of eight of some of the most decorated officers the county had, when somebody slid into the chair across from him. He flinched as he looked up. There was a young woman sitting primly, fingers laced over her knee, tucked prettily over her other. Her long, brilliant hair tumbled artfully down her shoulders and the scent of expensive perfume wafted across the air between them. 

"Can I help you, young lady?" 

Her crimson lips twitched, something between a smirk and a sneer. 

"What is it exactly that you're looking for?" she inquired, her gaze razor sharp as she studied him with the detached but piercing speculation of a scientist. 

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, folding the file over to hide the incident report from her view. 

The edge of her red mouth danced again and she unravelled her legs and fingers gracefully, twisting and leaning onto the edge of the table with perfect posture. Her eyes were unwavering and cold. 

"We know you've been asking questions about Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd. Pulling up the file on Matt Daehler, visiting Isaac Lahey's old house...following the Sheriff on his lunch date with Mrs McCall..." her voice dropped a touch, the pitch rising just a little, enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle defensively at the mock-playful accusation in her voice. Whoever she was, she obviously knew Scott and his friends, and his stomach stirred uneasily at the thought. She'd leaned forward to speak, and now straightened, studying a manicured nail while he glared at her. "The Argent's are under inquiry, the Hale case is being reopened and I heard a vicious rumour that Jackson Whittimore is wanted back in the States for questioning" She folded her hands and looked at him expectantly. A nerve in his jaw jumped and he leant forward so sharply he knocked his tablet against the table edge and spilt coffee onto the tabletop. 

"How do you-?!" he cut himself off, mind spinning because nobody knew about the request for information he'd put through was in no way public knowledge. She raised a haughty eyebrow and made a small, unimpressed, vaguely satisfied sound. Agent McCall laced his fingers together on the tabletop and looked at her carefully. She smirked, somewhat proudly, like a teacher whose student was beginning to understand something simple. "He's not 'wanted' for anything, Miss..., ah...?" 

"His father is very, very good at what he does; _I know he's not-_ " she whispered this, sarcastically conspiratorial. "-I also know that you're not going to get an answer out of him, but if you're lucky you'll get a statement from his lawyer telling you in Yale-approved terms that you're a moron for even asking. I am Lydia Martin, and the fact that you don't know that just goes to show how severely lacking your research skills really are" 

He raised an eyebrow shortly, but there was no real malice in her voice. Mostly just contempt. 

"Martin. Are your parents-" 

"None of your business? Yes. You're digging the wrong hole, Agent McCall" she told him firmly, barely any inflection to denote the question. 

"And I suppose you can tell me where I should be digging?" 

"Of course. For a price" 

That did surprise him. "Are you sure you want to play this game with a federal agent, Miss Martin?" he asked, warningly. 

She actually laughed, brightly, prettily and so completely plastic it made him grit his teeth. 

"Oh, Agent McCall. It astounds me that you had anything to do with Scott's upbringing, and I have an IQ of 175-" she looked at him and suddenly the smile was gone, and her face was absolutely cold. "-We're not playing a game. How many autopsy reports do you have sitting on your desk? Does that feel like a game to you? I sincerely hope not. You need to _stop speaking_!-" he'd opened his mouth and she cut him off viciously. "-And start _listening_. You already know more than I did when I put it together, so you need to _hurry up_. Clueless people in this town die, and while we don't particularly like you, you have resources we need" 

He was silent for a moment, absorbing this. She reached across the table and snagged his napkin, producing a pen apparently from nowhere and beginning to write something on the margin. 

"It's not as a simple as drugs is it?"he asked finally, resigned. She gave a blunt sound that, were she any less than Lydia Martin, would have been called a snort, and signed her name with a flourish on the edge of the thin paper. He caught a glimpse of some numbers as she pushed it across the table at him with one thin finger. 

"For the record, if you ever find yourself on the opposite side of a board to me, you will never know what hit you-" she tapped her finger on the paper, over the 'L' of her first name and gave him a predatory smile. "-but you can call me when you've finished 'The Dummies Guide To...', okay?" 

Standing with remarkable composure, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and strode out of the coffee shop. It was a confident motion he would almost have called swan-like but was at this point more inclined to compare her to a jaguar or tigress, something big and powerful and absolute. He ended up staring down at the napkin until his coffee got cold.


	3. Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are Twilight jokes, Scott just wants to sleep and McCall falls down the rabbit hole.

It was Derek Hale who opened the door to the loft, and McCall spat out his next words before the young man could shut the door in his face.

"I know what you are"

Derek raised his dark brows and took in the Agent's disheveled, crumpled appearance, the sweat beading his forehead and upper lip, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. His fingers were twitching like he wanted to palm his service piece. Derek was wearing a wife-beater singlet that highlighted toned upper arms and fresh pink scar tissue running along the bulging muscle.

"I'm willing to bet you don't" Derek drawled, folding his arms and taking up the space of the doorway, effectively blocking him out. He called out Scott's name over his shoulder, a question, and the boy answered back. His voice was low and strained and McCall couldn't make out meaning beyond an affirmative sort of tone.

With a low grumbling noise in his chest, Derek stepped aside and led him into the loft. In the main room, the usual suspects were scattered around, looking like they'd been put through a wood-chipper. Scott was sitting on the couch between Isaac and Allison, his shirt off, one arm across the back of the seat along Allison's back and his other hand resting comfortably above Isaac's knee. The Hale girl was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the couch, toweling her hair dry, eyeing him. Lydia perched on a coffee table holding a bowl for Allison, who was armed with a pair of tweezers and a scalpel, plucking out what looked like shards of glass from a messy, bloodied wound in Scott's side. There was a cut on her cheek held together with butterfly stitches and to the side of the room, near an Ikea dining set, was a pile of ruined, bloody clothing. McCall's chest clenched uncomfortably as Allison cut into new pink skin to extract another shard and then, as he watched, the wound began to heal again.

"Stop moving!" she ordered Scott, frowning and pausing with the scalpel.

"It _hurts_!" he whined.

"It would hurt a lot less if you stopped moving" she told him. Scott groaned and let his head fall back onto the back of the couch. Isaac smirked and kissed his naked shoulder. The Alpha lolled his head to look at the Beta and spotted Derek and Rafael. He groaned and curled his head into Isaac's neck.

"So, we're gunna let him in on all the crazy?"

Rafael flinched because he hadn't heard Stiles come in from the other side of the room. The teenager's hair was wet and clean and he was holding two bowls of something steaming. He crossed to Cora and handed her a bowl, setting the other one beside Lydia on the coffee table. Straightening, he swayed, and Derek moved from McCall's side at Scott's sudden whine. His eyes were on his friend even as Stiles tried to wave it off. He looked exhausted, had scratches across his forehead and neck, a split lip and was limping. The newly healed skin on his cheek from their run-in with the harpy looked inflamed.

"Siddown, Stiles, I'll get the rest" Derek ordered.

Stiles nodded without saying anything and fell messily onto the ground between Cora's legs. She put the towel and bowl aside and wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling into his neck as he muttered something under his breath and winced as he straightening his leg. McCall felt he'd stayed quiet long enough and cleared his throat.

"What was that thing, in the morgue?" he demanded.

It was now the early hours of a Thursday morning. He'd been heading out of the Sheriff's office, red-eyed, at about midnight when he'd heard a commotion towards the back of the building. Beacon Hills wasn't big enough to have it's own forensic department, so bodies were kept at the hospital. However, with the slew of murders, a room in the back had been chilled and converted to hold a few of the more sensitive cadavers. He'd expected a janitor, maybe kids screwing around, not an all out brawl between two glowing-eyed, furry faced monsters and a...whatever the hell it was that they were tearing apart. He'd taken a few shots at everything that moved, instinctively, until one of the furry faced ones whirled around and he'd been looking into a warped version of his own son's features. His mouth was stretched out over honest-to-God fangs.

"GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!" he'd roared, and Rafael had. He'd run for his damn life, out to the car park. Stiles had arrived with a squeal of rubber, armed with another baseball bat, running into the back with the dark haired Hale girl-the one that was supposedly dead in the fires, and the questions that had been skated over when she'd miraculously returned had John Stilinski written all over them—only to return a few minutes later with a body slumped between him and Hale. When Lydia Martin, Allison Argent and Isaac Lahey appeared in a second car and conversed quickly with Stiles, Rafael had continued to sit in his car. Observing, gathering information, he told himself. He was _not_ frozen with terror and indecision. Isaac and Lydia went into the building. Half an hour later, he had watched as none other than Derek Hale exited with them, carrying a body bag, and disappeared around the side of the building. The blue FJ Cruiser he already knew was registered to Derek Hale tore onto the road, heading towards the preserve, a few minutes later. With a blurred, whitened mind, Rafael had sat and revaluated everything he every knew in his entire life. Then, finally, he came to a decision, logged onto his database and found Derek Hale's address. Which is how he came to find himself here, hands full of questions and half-answers lingering out of reach of his shocked mind.

"Thought you said you'd figured it out" taunted Stiles in reply to McCall's question, his eyes closed and his head resting back on Cora's shoulder.

"Oh, I know what you are, make no mistake. I just don't know what...that, other, thing was. Or why you were fighting it" he blurted out.

"Me? I'm not anything. I'm like, Abominable Stiles-ah, oww" He'd moved his hurt leg the wrong way and his face screwed up in pain. Cora put her hand on his thigh and black veins bulged on her arm. Stiles' face immediately relaxed and his body curved more loosely against hers.

"What the hell?!" McCall whispered, choked, staring at Cora's arm.

"Neat trick huh?...oh my God, I freaking love you" Stiles added, pressing a kiss to Cora's jaw and threading their fingers together on his leg.

"You'd better" she informed him.

"Hey, pretty sure I saved your ass tonight"

She gave him a look that Stiles was pretty sure he'd seen on Derek's face before.

"C'mon...a little bit? At least let me keep some of my masculinity, come on. My girlfriend's a badass. Let me pretend for a bit okay?"

She shook her head at him and curled into his neck protectively.

"You do alright, Batman" she told him softly, secretively, for Stiles' ears alone. He grinned and then seemed to remember McCall standing awkwardly to the side, watching their Pack interact. Scott, it seemed, was nearly asleep with Isaac's fingers carding through his short hair and Allison gently wiping blood from his ribs.

"It was a ghoul, at the morgue" Stiles announced, eyes narrowed at McCall. The agent startled violently. This night was obviously not going as he'd planned. When Stiles had seen him, apparently having a mental breakdown, in the car park of the Sheriff's department, at the back of his mind he'd registered that Lydia was apparently going to get her own way after all. Unless they could get McCall committed, there was no way to keep their huge, fanged and bloodthirsty secrets under wraps any more.

"A _what_?!"

"A-oh for the love of- a ghoul, okay? G-h-o-u-l. Ghoul. Freaky, gross, thing, eats dead people, only this one got into fast food and started making it's own. Went rouge or something" he snapped.

He'd secretly agreed with Lydia that having a FBI agent on their side could come in handy, especially one asking his Dad some pretty uncomfortable questions. He just wished it was anyone but Rafael McCall.

"So...how's that, I mean why? What...so what stops you from, doing that, going rouge?" McCall asked, and there was a chill down his back telling him that he was in over his damn head and that this was a very bad idea. He looked at Scott and thought fiercely that no. Even when he was...not himself, Scott had urged him to save himself at least. Whatever else was wrong with their relationship, his son was his family and he wasn't about to eat him...or let his friends eat him. Probably. He shifted to feel the comfortable weight of his Glock on his hip and refused to remember that the bullets he'd fired at the second monster in the morgue hadn't even slowed him-it-her-thing, down.

"What's the difference between you and them?" he tacked on the end of his spluttering first attempt, injecting some confidence into his voice.

"We don't kill people" Derek announced firmly, entering from the kitchen with more food. The scars that had scattered his arms at the door were gone. McCall stared at him for a split second as he made the stone-cold realisation that _Derek_ was the second monster from the morgue. The one he'd _shot_! He swallowed and dug his fingernails into his biceps as his head swam. The bowls smelt like spaghetti with Claudia Stilinski's sauce specially engineered for hungry boys. Scott used to eat the stuff by the bucket, McCall remembered with another skip inside his ribcage. His son seemed to be roused by the smell of it anyway, and sat up, stretching his side experimentally. Allison stroked the back of his neck as Isaac shifted to hold Scott's hand between his own, and McCall came to a subconscious realisation that he must have a hell of a lot more game than he'd had at that age.

"So then, what, you just feed on them, on people?"

"Feed?" echoed Isaac incredulously, a forkful of spaghetti hanging in front of his mouth. Suddenly everyone in the room was looking at McCall.

"What is it exactly that you think they are?" Allison asked cautiously.

" 'They'?! All of you" It was the only way he'd been able to explain the connections between all of them logically. Except...Allison's cheek. Stiles' leg. "Wait-all of you except you. And Stiles. Neither of you are healing like them" he pointed to Derek, who cocked an eyebrow, unamused.

"Cookie for you, McCall. Human-" Stiles pointed at Allison, then turned his thumb to indicate himself and then pointed to Lydia. "-also human...aaand mostly human"

"What?" said McCall, confused, as at the same time Lydia turned and glared at Stiles.

"Excuse me?"

"What, it's true-" Stiles retorted to Lydia's icy tone as McCall spoke over the top of their nobody was listening until he said something about blood donors. Then everyone was listening and staring at him.

"Wait...wait, wait...do you...do you think they're _vampires_?!" Stiles' voice went high at the end of his exclamation. The look on McCall's face was answer enough and Stiles lost it, curled up on himself, loud, absolute laughter pouring out of his mouth. Isaac laughed into his hand as Allison tried to politely choke down her own amusement and Lydia stared at him distastefully. Cora actually giggled, which made Derek's eyes soften at her.

"Oh g-god, oh my f-f-f, he thinks-vampires! Holy-ohmygod-C-Cora, my love, bite me I want to sparkle in the sunlight with you for eternity" Stiles turned into Cora and tugged at the collar of his flannel.

"Oh I'll bite you" she informed him playfully, giving him a gentle push. He was laughing too hard to take offence anyway. McCall, however was. Red-faced he fumed silently at them; most of them laughing, Isaac now cracking Twilight jokes with Stiles, Lydia and Derek the only ones looking completely unamused and Scott silently scarfing down food like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Lydia spoke coldly at Scott, who shrugged.

"It was your idea to bring him in on it, Lydia. I said it was-that it wouldn't work" he replied and shovelled another load of food into his mouth while she fluffed her feathers irately.

"He has _resources_ , Scott! Danny and the Sheriff can only help us so much-"

"Does one of you want to explain what is going on here" McCall ground out, arms folded and viciously willing the heat in his face to go away. He would not allow himself to be humiliated by a bunch of teenagers. Derek was now leaning on the wall beside Cora and Stiles, eating silently and looking at McCall like he kind of wanted to join in the laughter but wouldn't.

"They're not vampires, you _idiot_. Oh my God. Close though. Same franchise" Stiles said, trying to control his voice, but it cracked at the end and he had to laugh into Cora's neck again. She was grinning a little viciously over his head at McCall, who tried to summon the tenacity to glare at her.

"Shut up Stiles" growled out Derek.

"You totally are though! Like Isaac imprinted on Scott like a baby duck, and you're totally always running around with no shirt on. Seriously, dude, you're gunna catch something" Meanwhile, McCall was readjusting his position.

"Wait a second, you don't mean..." he trailed off because he couldn't put these things to words. It was too damn far out of his depth for him to deal with this.

"Aaawwwwoooooo" howled Stiles teasingly, smirking up at him. Isaac threw a pillow at him. Cora caught it. McCall stared at him blankly until, finally, Scott seemed to take pity on him.

"Werewolves. We're werewolves" he said bluntly. 


	4. Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall gets the low-down on the sitch. Scott does unnecessary back-flips.

Scott opened his door and heaved a weighty sigh when he found Rafael standing on the other side of it.

"Please, Scott...I just wanna talk" he said, quickly, before his son could shut the door in his face again. Scott narrowed his eyes at him, jaw clenched tight and mulishly set, before sighing again through his nose, aggravated, and letting the door fall open. He walked back and sat down heavily at his desk. On the screen, Stiles' face blinked a couple of times at Rafael's intrusion, and then his eyes flicked to Scott.

"I'll call you back" explained Scott, tired and drawn out. Stiles sneered over Scott's shoulder towards McCall, but ended the call. Scott didn't turn around once he had, instead he saved a couple of word documents and bookmarked an internet search. The silence dragged into something heavy and uncomfortable, until McCall cleared his throat.

"So...werewolves?" he asked, hesitantly. He'd fainted, embarrassingly, at the Hale's loft three days ago, from a mixture of shock and exhaustion. Allison bought him back to his hotel on her way home, and given him the number of a burner cell they used to communicate within the pack.

(McCall had looked the number up, and found that there was a string of unregistered prepaid burners that had popped up in Beacon Hills over the last two years, with the calls all local and mostly from the Preserve and the high school)

Scott looked at him hard, jutting his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah. It's...complicated" he landed on finally, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

Rafael sat down on the bed and looked at him, consciously keeping his body language open. "Explain it to me"

His son drummed his fingers on the desktop. "What do you know?"

It was a clever technique, actually; establishing the lines of knowledge in order to play within them. McCall tried to circumvent the trap: "Why don't you just start at the beginning?"

Scott replied with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow, mouth flat, calling him out. McCall inclined his head respectfully before he could even stop himself, because he recognised that expression; it meant 'yeah, nice try rookie, but no'. Quietly, he collected his thoughts.

"I know that I am out of my league" he admitted, deciding to start simple. Scott made a small, dark sound of amusement that Rafael counted as a win before he moved on. "I know this all started two years ago, right? Sophomore year. You suddenly made first line, your grades crashed, you got mixed up with that Argent girl-"

"I'm still 'mixed up' with Allison, so watch your mouth" Scott bit out.

"Her aunt killed dozens of people, and crippled one...who miraculously woke up the same year as you were...what, like...bitten? Is that right?"

Scott didn't say anything, but he nodded and gestured for McCall to continue. The Agent rubbed his jaw, feeling the skitch-skitch of three-day old stubble. "Then Derek Hale comes back after three years, and his older sister turns up dead. You and Stiles accused him of murder-"

"Twice" muttered Scott, sounding guilty. Rafael stared at him for a long moment while he looked down at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. After a few seconds, Rafael shook himself and left that alone, moving on with the cobbled pieces of the narrative that he had.

"-and you had a restraining order filed against you by Jackson Whittimore. Is he with you or against you? Because he was dating Miss Martin"

Scott made a face and scrubbed his hands over his hair, muttering under his breath. Rafael could have sworn he heard something about lizards before Scott started talking about kanimas, which bled into the dynamics of a were pack, and just what sort of monsters were really out there. They covered the darach, the Alpha Pack and the local kitsunes: Kira Yukimura and her grandfather who were sworn now to protect Scott and were sheltered by the power of the Nemeton. The clock hands began to slide into night time before Scott finished. He'd pulled his desk chair beside the bed and drawn the triskeles and other symbols they used to identify one another onto a piece of notepad. Rafael let himself digest the information, a headache pounding in his temples as he thought about how it might all apply to the rag-tag bunch of friends and allies Scott had gathered around him.

"Okay. So Gerard and Kate. They're hunters, like Allison and her father"

"No. Well, yeah, they're hunters, but they weren't like Allison and Mister Argent. They went against the Code. The hunter's Code is 'We hunt those who hunt us' but Chris and Allison go by their own Code now"

"Which is?"

" 'We protect those who cannot protect themselves'. It was Allison's idea" Scott added proudly, and then sobered. "Gerard is completely...psychotic. He had cancer, and he decided that if he got bitten and killed an Alpha then he could save himself and use Alpha powers to kill more werewolves"

Rafael swallowed against a wave of bile.

"What about right now? What is the Pack now? You're the Alpha of your Pack, and then there was others?" 

Scott grimaced and sat down. 

"Yeah. There's others. There's still Deucalion out there, somewhere-" he tapped the Alphas symbol on the notepad in time to Rafael's nod. "-But Ethan and Aiden are omegas now. It's...kind of a long story, and I don't even really know all of it—unreliable narrator, you know?—but I think Gerard betrayed Deucalion, before the Hale fire, back when the Hale Alpha had a pretty powerful position among the were packs"

"Why?"

"Talia Hale, the Alpha, had this...ability, that's unique to the Hales; she could turn herself completely into a wolf. That's why, we think, that Deucalion wanted to recruit Derek into the Alpha pack. To do that, the Alpha first had to kill everyone in their own pack. He wanted me to join too, and he was...pretty persuasive" Scott's expression looked too old for his young features. Rafael nodded slowly, gesturing for him to continue as he paused hesitantly.

"What about you? Why did he want you?" he asked when nothing came from Scott's clenched jaw.

"I'm..ah, I'm what they call a, ah, a True Alpha? Yeah, it ah, it just means...well, normally a Beta becomes an Alpha by killing one, but I didn't kill anyone. I just, sorta, became...an Alpha. Like I decided or something. But Deucalion wanted me to kill Jennifer Blake? The Darach, the one who, you know, with the Nemeton?"

Rafael had a feeling that Scott was skimming over some of the specifics, but some of the hot tangle in his chest loosened when he realised his son was truly not a killer.

"Right, yeah, ah she killed all those people, all the sacrifices. She took your mom and the others"

"Yeah, exactly. So...when I didn't, ah, Derek he did this thing where he convinced her to heal Deucalion's eyesight and then she was too weak to fight. He—Deucalion, I mean –he...he cut her throat"

Rafael winced in sympathy. "So she's dead" he didn't phrase it as a question, until Scott grimaced and he curved his face into a question mark.

"We don't actually know-" Scott tapped his fingers hesitantly on his knee, staring out his window. "-we never found her body, so...but the other Alphas? They're all dead. Jennifer killed Kali, and Derek kind of killed Ennis, but when Deucalion left, Ethan and Aiden stayed. They'd already chosen this side, sort of. I mean Ethan stayed I think because he wanted to keep Danny safe, and Aiden because Kali ended up threatening Lydia...I don't know if Aiden loves her like Ethan loves Danny, but...I guess the thing is that now it's just...all screwed up because, there's my pack, which is Stiles, Isaac, Allison and Lydia, plus Derek and Cora, I think...but...we don't really know, I don't really know. According to Derek, I had a pack _before_ I was an Alpha; Stiles, Allison, Lydia. Him and Cora, they really only just came back, and...you know, Cora's still trying to remember everything that happened to her and Derek is seriously messed up and...I mean, we're trying, but full moons aren't...exactly...a walk in the park. Everything smells like Alphas and blood and death, and all I want, really, is just for my pack to be okay, and to go to school, and for nobody else to die. instead Peter's being a creep again, and there's kitsunes, which what the _hell_ , and the Nemeton makes everything really hard because there's so much I can't do, and it's like the heart of darkness and I see it in Stiles and Allison and I can't _help_!"

They were quiet as Scott caught his breath, the air around the fragile as they both realised that Scott had admitted a lot more than he'd wanted to.

"That's...it's a lot for you to carry, Scott" admitted Rafael finally.

Scott shrugged, not meeting his father's gaze, embarrassed. He stood up and tossed the notepad back onto his desk, pacing in front of his window. He dragged a hand down his face. "I made a lot of mistakes. Especially with Lydia, and...with Allison"

Rafael shifted. "I know I'm pretty new to all this, Scott, but...I think you're doing a pretty amazing job"

Scott glanced back over his shoulder at his father and gave him a short nod of recognition, but his eyes were dark. He didn't believe Rafael, and more than that didn't really care about his opinion enough to feel anything about the compliment.

"I had a conversation with Miss Martin the other day..." began Rafael after a moment. Scott nodded, turned around and leaned back on his window sill, crossing his arms.

"She thinks you can help us"

"How? I can't release sensitive information"

Scott shrugged and wasn't enthused by the prospect. Even as he spoke, it was clear that it was Lydia's words in his mouth.

"It's more covering up our involvement when something comes to town. You saw that mess at the warehouse, and at the morgue. The Sheriff can only do so much, and we're trying, but... you have access to information that Danny doesn't. You can help with getting Cora's death certificate, like, taken back or whatever-" he was watching Rafael carefully as he spoke, and shifted his feet. His words became his own again; "-It's going to get a lot worse. This is just the start, and so far we've had two kitsunes, a harpy, a Skinwalker, a phoenix, a ghoul and something that was poisoning the water; a cockatrice Stiles said but Deaton said it was something else..."

That was just too much for Rafael to deal with, so he left it alone and veered in another direction.

"So Stiles, he's your, ah...emissary? Is that right?" Scott shrugged and looked out the window again.

"I don't know. Deaton is...he's technically the Hale's emissary, and we don't...Derek said he feels like there is still a Hale Alpha"

"I thought the Hale's were all...?"

"Dead? Yeah. Peter Hale isn't" Scott was forthright in a tired, impatient way that made Rafael's mouth go dry. The way he said Peter Hale's name was like it was something sharp on his tongue, a razor held between his teeth.

"The guy who was, until two years ago, in a coma for, what? Five years?" Rafael pointed out, slowly. The way that Scott smirked at him was Stiles all over.

"The guy who killed Laura Hale, bit me, attacked Lydia and kidnapped Stiles when he was in 'in a coma' Rafael. Get a clue"

It was the second time that Scott had used that tone of voice at Rafael. The only difference was that this time Allison Argent wasn't armed with a smoke bomb. Just when it felt like they were getting somewhere, Rafael had put his foot in it again.

"I can put an APB out on him. Questioning about the Hale fire? The case is open again" he offered, trying to make up the ground he'd lost.

"You could try, but nobody finds Peter unless he wants to be..." Scott trailed off and tilted his head in a remarkably canine way, twisting his upper body towards the window. "Shit" he said under his breath and opened it, sticking his upper body out. "Shit!" he repeated, pulling himself back in after a moment and grabbing his phone, hitting speed dial.

"Scott? What's..."

One day, Rafael would probably get used to taking orders from his kid, but it wasn't today, so when Scott raised a hand to silence him, he shut up.

"Isaac's hit trouble, I just heard him. Get Allison and Danny, track my cell" Scott said before whoever was on the other end of the line even answered. They didn't reply before Scott had hung up, grabbed a band from the drawer and strapped it to his arm, tucking the cell into it as he whipped his shirt off, speaking hurriedly to Rafael as he did so."I have to go. We know where to find you if we need help, but other than that, stay out of it, okay? Lydia thinks you can help, but I think that the fewer people involved the better. I don't need any more bodies, okay?"

Too bewildered to feel warmed by Scott's concern, Rafael just stood and stared at him. 

 

"Where are you going?"

"Isaac's in trouble. Lock the door behind you" Scott dismissed shortly, and kicked off his shoes as he swung out his window.

"Jesus, Scott! What the hell-"

The boy was gone, leaping spectacularly from the second floor and running before he'd even landed properly. Within seconds, he'd hit the tree line and a heartbeat after that there was no sign he'd ever been there. Rafael was left alone in his son's bedroom again, heart pounding in his mouth and temples throbbing.


	5. Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The players meet. McCall gets a look at the whole board for the first time.

The ride out was silent. Stiles' jaw was set mulishly and he had the radio turned up obnoxiously loud. Rafael had been bent over paperwork all day, unproductive and distracted, and he had a headache. All he really wanted was to crawl back to his hotel room, pour himself a neat glass of the cheapest, nastiest liquor he could get his hands on and sleep dreamlessly for at least ten hours. Instead, he'd come out of the department to find Stiles leaning on his Jeep at the front, looking annoyed.

"We're meeting. If you still want in, come with me" he'd snapped, tired. Stiles seemed so much older now than he had the few short months ago when Rafael had first arrived in Beacon Hills. There was something heavy weighed across the line of his broadening shoulders, secrets written into scars on his arms and knuckles and face. He was resigned in a way that made Rafael want to grab him by the scruff of the neck and shove him into the den of his old house, sit him down next to Scott and listen to them yell over characters in a video game while he sat in his office pouring over reports. He wished with gritted teeth now that he'd sat on the couch instead back in those days. He blinked as Stiles pulled off the road and drove across the grassy edge of the lacrosse fields towards a circle of vehicles. Figures moved eerily in front of lit up headlights as he pulled up next to the Hale's Cruiser and put it in park. Rafael peered through the windscreen as he reached for the door latch. There were about fifteen people that he could see, most of which he recognised, a couple that he did not.

"So, your education to all things totally insane continues now-" Stiles announced dryly, leaning over into the back seat to grab a jacket before continuing. "-the high school is one of two neutral places in Beacon Hills. The other is the vet clinic. Everywhere else is kind of really not, neutral exactly, because technically everything is still Hale pack territory"

"Only there's no Hale pack anymore" remembered Rafael, recalling the light slanting Scott's face as he patiently explained the mess that he'd arrived in the middle of. Stiles made a face.

"We don't know. Territory magic is...tricky. The preserve and the pack's houses; Scott's house, my place, Lydia's, the Argent's and Derek's loft, they're all McCall Pack territory"

"McCall Pack?" Rafael echoed. Stiles snorted derisively, throwing open his door and leaving his lights on to add more illumination to the half-circle of vehicles. The Jeep beeped in protest and he slammed his door in response.

"Scott's the Alpha. It's got nothing to do with you" he replied coldly.

Rafael wisely chose not to comment and followed Stiles out of the car, onto the lacrosse field. Throwing light onto the grass was Stiles' Jeep, Scott's motorcycle and two sleek, black Kawasaki's, the Sheriff's civilian vehicle, a low slung, silver convertible and a huge, black SUV along with the Hale's blue Cruiser. Everyone turned to watch them approach, all of them on edge. The scene was a tableau of tense shoulders and narrowed eyes and folded arms. Rafael began to catalogue everyone he knew and figured out who the others were from their body language. Lydia Martin, banshee and part-time resurrector of the dead, was sitting on the bumper bar of the Argent's SUV, twirling a curl absently around her finger and eyeing the lock of hair for split ends. Standing beside her was one of the Alpha twins Scott had mentioned in the loft a week ago. From Rafael's understanding, they weren't quite omegas—lone wolves—but they weren't completely Alphas anymore either. The allegiances were all shifting. It was confusing and fragile, Scott had said, running a hand through his hair in a gesture Rafael recognised from the mirror. This one must be Aiden, whose last name according to his records was Brown, but some digging revealed that he'd also been Aiden Smith and Aiden Rogers over the course of the last few years. Rafael had deduced that he was in a relationship with Lydia, but it was a fact that was skirted around skittishly by all. Scott's whole body had tensed when he'd mentioned it. For his part, Aiden looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, jaw jutted mulishly, eyes locked with Scott, his arms bulging against the leather seams of his jacket. Aiden's twin Ethan was standing with his arm around a handsome brown-skinned boy who'd been one of the victims from the drug incident at the underground gay club Jungle two years ago: Daniel Something-He-Couldn't-Pronounce. Ethan was subtly keeping himself between the human and the stand-off between his glaring brother and Scott. There was Isaac, of course, at Scott's right shoulder. Cora was crouched comfortably by Derek's thigh where he was standing at Scott's back, cooling her heels as she watched Rafael and Stiles approach. Allison and Chris Argent were standing to the side, her tapping her fingers impatiently and him watching with cool, blank calculation. John and Melissa were standing off to the side with Doctor Alan Deaton, conversing faux-casually but John's hand resting on his hip like he wished he wasn't out of uniform and Melissa kept throwing worried looks towards Scott and Isaac.

"Looks like we're the last ones here" Rafael commented, hoping to dispel some of the dangerous tension in the air.

"You're the one drowning your complete lack of redeeming qualities in midnight oil" Stiles said smoothly , striding past him. Rafael flinched at his acidic tone."Hey, this is an improvement! No blood. Good job, guys, really. You managed to not be complete assholes" Stiles announced brightly, giving the twins a sarcastic thumbs up.

Aiden snarled, Ethan sneered and Danny rolled his eyes.

"Shut up Stiles" Derek informed him dully, sounding like he'd said it so often the words had lost their meaning. Stiles shrugged and handed Cora the jacket. She looked at it and raised her eyebrows.

"What? You always forget yours" Stiles said defensively. Allison made a small 'aww' sound like she couldn't help it, and Melissa's lips twitched in agreement. Stiles blushed and scratched the back of his neck, looking pleadingly at Scott. Cora had taken the jacket with a huff, ducking her head to hide her smile.

In the meantime, Chris Argent approached Rafael and offered his hand with a humourless smile.

"Agent McCall, I don't believe we've met officially. Chris Argent"

"Rafael, please. I...-" he glanced at the gentle teasing happening over Chris' shoulder, contrasted with all the sharp glances and tight faces. "-I'm a little out of my jurisdiction here"

Chris nodded understandingly. "Well, we all are"

Rafael shifted his feet. "So how do you fit in here?" he asked, mostly just to see how he'd react.

Scott had spent a good hour detailing the history and connections of the Argents. He seemed to trust Chris, to a degree that was shaky and tentative. Allison he trusted explicitly, for all that there was obvious unresolved conflict between the Hales and the Argents. There probably always would be, Scott had said with a shrug, briefly mentioning the names Vernon Boyd, Erica Reyes and Victoria Argent. Chris' grey eyes were sharp and laser-like as he studied Rafael scathingly for a long moment, seeing right through any facade of ignorance.

"My family have a long history with werewolves. Not all of it good. My daughter and I are trying to put that right"

Scott started speaking to the group before Rafael could find out more, addressing everyone as a whole but looking at Aiden.

"Okay, everyone. This is Agent Rafael McCall, he's with the FBI and he's here to help. We're all in agreement-"

"No, everyone is not in agreement, McCall. There's too many people involved!" growled Aiden, cutting him off. Lydia sighed through her nose and was ignored.

"This is bigger than you, Aiden, and it's getting bigger. I keep telling you, you don't have to stay"

"Where else are we gunna go?" pointed out Ethan tiredly, his face grim. "Deucalion's still out there, Scott-"

"We really don't care" Derek said, low and dangerous.

"Some of us do, Derek. You _know_ that Skinwalker would have killed you without their help" Lydia injected fiercely, prim and sharp like a fine dining steak knife.

"Skinwalker?" hissed Rafael to Chris.

"A shaman, shapeshifter. Bad news" replied Chris under his breath, eyes trained back on Derek.

"They're the reason Boyd is dead" the blue-eyed beta snarled, fingers clenching against his biceps.

"Can you curb your martyr guilt for five minutes, please?" Lydia enquired icily.

Cora made an animal sound, her eyes casting a quick, violent light against her dark face. Lydia pinched her lips in her direction, unimpressed at the display.

"That's _enough_ , come on guys. We all have to remember who the real enemy is here" Scott protested, unfolding his arms with some obvious effort, trying to bring his body language to neutral.

"Remind me again, McCall, who is that?" snarled Aiden.

"Not _us_!" Stiles snapped, exasperated and stepped up. 

"We all know the best thing for this. It's hard, I know, Derek, okay? Boyd was...they were our friends too" Stiles held Derek's gaze until the he looked away and scuffed his boot on the turf. "We have bigger problems. Namely, the fact that our resident bad-touch, psycho Alpha, already risen from the dead once, just FYI, is decidedly very not here. Or anywhere" he paused to look at Lydia, who looked steadily back at him as Aiden tensed up. "- _Peter_ is the one we should be worried about. While we're bickering about territory lines and pack ties, the Nemeton is getting stronger. Scott, Allison and I can _feel_ it. The stuff we've been dealing with? It's going to get worse. So, yeah, I...-" Stiles stopped for a moment, looked at Rafael, sighed heavily and continued. "-I think we need to bring Agent McCall in. Especially if the body count's going to keep getting higher. I also think you all need to do whatever weird, wolfy bonding thing you have to so you can work together. Coz this whole second grade passing notes crap is not working. Lydia can't keep being the middle man, and Danny was _our_ friend _first_. Screw all this werewolf crap"

Everyone busily absorbed that. Danny smiled reluctantly. "Thanks Stiles" he said meaningfully. 

The tall teen waved a hand dismissively, looking at Scott now. The True Alpha's whole body was wound up tight. Isaac was standing closer now, his breath warm across Scott's shoulder and bare neck.

"I want to be able to trust you" Scott announced, looking at Ethan first, and then Aiden. Ethan nodded.

"We'd like to trust you too, and I do, at least...more than others" he nodded briefly at Derek, who shrugged in response. "And Stiles saved my life back at the hotel, so you know I owe you. We're not going anywhere, because we've got nowhere to go-" the brothers exchanged a heavy look before Ethan returned his gaze to Scott. "-We want to make it work here"

Scott nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, turning over his shoulder to look at Deaton. The vet's expression was inscrutable. Stiles made an impatient noise.

"Yay, friendship bracelets all around. Now, do we maybe want to talk a little shop? You know, like the thing that nearly decapitated Isaac last night?" cried Stiles, waving his hands.

The response was immediate clamour. Stiles looked satisfied.


	6. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall tries to prove his worth. Stiles has scars that don't show on his skin.

"You know the thing that I don't understand yet, Stiles?"

The teenager made a heavy, exasperated noise and turned his whole body in his crouch at the base of a tree to give Rafael his whole attention, sarcasm in every line of him. He waved a screwdriver in an elaborate gesture to continue.

"I could name a massive number of things that you don't get, but what in particular have you finally wrapped your pea-like little brain around, Agent Rambo?" he hissed scathingly.

Rafael ignored his ire. "What is your role in all of this?"

Stiles flinched, stared at him for a heartbeat contemplatively, and then turned back to the set up on the tree trunk. They were on a rise in the preserve, McCall standing while Stiles crouched affixing a camouflage night-vision camera to the base of a tree. They were hunting the creature that had nearly killed Isaac three days ago, and for the first time, McCall had managed to get himself an invite, albeit a reluctant one. Surprisingly, Miss Argent had been his only supporter, pleading the need for more experienced gun hands.

"I'm just a guy" Stiles muttered finally.

"I don't think that is entirely true, Stiles"

"What the hell would you know?" he snapped without looking back, checking the ties and the output on the set-up.

"I know you're Scott's best friend, that you're not a werewolf even though you've had chances to be-"

"Who the hell told you that?!" Stiles twisted, looking at him fiercely, mouth twisted in anger, on his feet before the Agent could register the movement. Rafael read his reaction with some confusion and tilted his head.

"I just assumed..."

Immediately, the boy's shoulders relaxed and he turned back to his work.

"You know what they say about assume making an ass of you. And you don't need the help"

Rafael reviewed the new information hidden between the walls in Stiles' behaviour as they waited. Somebody had offered Stiles the bite. Not Scott. Whoever it was, Stiles didn't want the rest of them to know about it, was keeping it from them. Or maybe he was just keeping it from Rafael. It was hard to tell.

"Who was it?" he asked, taking a risk. 

"I don't know what you're talking about" Stiles snapped.

"Stiles, you know, you're really not making it easy-"

" _Easy_?!"

Just like with Scott, the Agent immediately knew that he'd stepped wrong and tried to regain ground.

"I just meant-"

"I know what you meant, a-hole, and let me tell you a little something about easy; being turned into a blood-thirsty mythical monster once a month because your _stupid_ best friend thinks it's a good idea to go wandering through the woods in the middle of the night when there's a rabid, crazy frikkin' psycho _murderer_ on the loose for-I mean, do you even-! He could have _died_ , okay?! Like a hundred frikkin' times! And like where the hell were you?! _Easy_ is homework and failing chem, and girlfriends and parties and lacrosse and none of this is freaking, _easy_! Okay? Jesus..." panting, Stiles trailed off, withdrawing and wiping a trembling hand across his face. He planted his other hand on his hip, the screwdriver dangling from his fingertips. He looked at the ground and swallowed hard. Shocked, McCall also withdrew, pushing his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and glancing out to the side. The silence dragged on until Stiles made a sound of frustration and swooped down to do a final check on the camera. Then, wordlessly, he stalked away. After a moment, McCall followed.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to my son, you know Stiles-"

"Jeezz, please, just, please spare me okay? I don't like you. Don't make it any harder to breath the same freakin'- _Jesusgetdown_!" Stiles' hand went claw-like on his shoulder, his slight body weight tilting McCall and making the rapid journey down easier.

"Holyshit!"

"What was it, Stiles?"

"Sh-sh-sh! Shuddup!" he rasped, belly to the forest floor, waving a finger in front of his lips. He tucked an elbow under his ribs and listening, head tilted to the air. He was poised like a wild animal, the whites of eyes clear in the starry night. McCall listened carefully, hand travelling uncomfortably through the leaf litter to grip his service weapon. The woods weren't quiet around them; there were crickets and leaves rustling, indeterminate sounds rather than deliberate, human movements.

"Stiles-"

"Shutup! They're coming" Stiles grunted through gritted teeth. McCall followed his gaze. The woods in that direction were empty. "When I say, head for the tree-"

"There is nothing there!"

" _Please_! Just-"

Rafael was on his feet before Stiles could stop him, shining his flashlight directly into the trees. Nothing happened.

"See? Nothing-"

Stiles made an awful strangled noise that sounded almost like a _No!_ The boy tackled McCall's legs and bought him crashing to the ground. The wind rushed out of him in a implosive thump, and Stiles' was on his feet again, scrambling with his hands held out to his sides.

"Back off!-" he shouted into the empty woods. "-We're unarmed and we're human! Just back off!"

"Stiles!"

He whipped his head to the sound of his name, froze, staring at the prone Agent, and slid to his knees beside McCall. His long hands scrabbled at the suit jacket, yanking it back away from McCall's chest. The breath left him in a hurry, then sucked back in like a tide. Shaking all over, he drew his hands up and stared at them, turning them over and over before falling back from his knees to his butt, staring at McCall's chest, then his face, gasping shallowly, looking over his shoulder at the silent woods, and then up at the trees around them.

"Wh-wha-wh-what. What-"

"Stiles-" Rafael approached carefully, taking Stiles by his wrist. The boy's palm was bleeding where he'd landed on a rock. "-listen to me, you're safe. You've been through a lot, you're scared and you're just seeing things. It's okay, listen to me, listen"

Stiles shoved him in the chest with his bleeding hand.

"Geddoffame" he grunted, loping onto his feet. Carefully, he walked forward to the tree line he'd been concerned with, casting left and right. Then he turned and walked back the way they'd come. Rafael was silent as he traced the rough barked tree with his fingertips, following an invisible line backwards from the point.

"We gotta get back to the Jeep" he breathed, already on his way. Rafael tried to calm him, but the only reaction he got was to be rounded on by 140 pounds of pissed off teenager. "I will _leave_ your ass in these _freaky ass_ woods, okay, I swear to God!"

Silenced, McCall raised his hands in surrender. Stiles windmilled exasperatedly around as he stalked off, muttering direly under his breath. They piled into Stiles' Jeep, heading out of the Preserve. Stiles dialled Scott one handed and ignored the disapproving look McCall kept obviously giving him as his friend answered.

"You okay?" was Scott's immediate response.

"I just watched your dad get shot six times with arrows that weren't actually freaking there, Scott, I am so far from 'okay'!"

There was a beat of silence as Scott chewed on that. "Is he-wait...what?!"

"The camera's set up or whatever and I saw-it was like, I dunno, like a hallucination only clearer Scott, like...-" he glanced sideways at Rafael and then took a deep breath. "-...you know in the ice? What we saw?"

"Yeah, of course! Are you saying it was the Nemeton? Where are you? Wait, _shit_ , Stiles, are you _driving_?"

Stiles made a frustrated sound. "Yes, I'm driving, of course I'm-God, what even are you-look, Scotty, buddy-" he juggled the phone to his other hand so he could change gears. "-we have about three options for what might have just happened, and none of them are good. One: I'm going crazy. Again. Which is...so far from okay, but whatever. Two: the Nemeton is doing that totally freaky psychic warning thing like with the Skinwalker, which means that there actually are scary-ass crazy hunter's coming our way. With bows. Again. And three...well, I don't know what three is, I don't have three figured out, I was keeping my options open"

"Three is the thing living in Beacon Hills that could make you have visions" said Scott resignedly. Stiles paused for about a second.

"What the _Hell_?! No, seriously, that total, _freaking_ , two-faced, evil little- _urg_! Why?! I'm going to fry that total evil bitch a freaking tofu burger and wrap it around her throat!" he exploded, the car veering dangerously as he threw his hands in the air. McCall yelped and Stiles glared at him, steadying the vehicle and swearing again.

"Dude, we don't know _anything_ yet" cautioned Scott. The line quietened, until all Scott could hear was Roscoe's engine and the scratchy radio on low. "Stiles?...hey, Stiles?"

Without taking his eyes off McCall in the passenger seat, Stiles made a thoughtful knot with his mouth. "I'll call you back" He hit End Call and dropped the phone. McCall shifted uncomfortably in the centre of the boy's suddenly piercing gaze. "You feel like being useful or what?" asked Stiles scathingly, finally returning his eyes to the road.


	7. Kitsune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles recruit their local trickster for some inside information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) An interlude. Agent McCall is physically absent from this chapter. 
> 
> 2) I've taken some liberities with the canon Kitsune mythology. Kitsunes are COOL okay, I hope they explore their mythos more next season. 
> 
> 3) As this was written pre-season 3B, the characters are different. I assumed that the old Japanese man speaking in the original 3B trailers was Kira's grandfather. Plus, I think watching buff young people getting beaten up by flabby old people is hilarious.

High school irritated Scott on days like this. Most days, he craved the normality of getting up, getting dressed, scrawling his homework on the kitchen table, eating lunch in the cafeteria with his eclectic gang of friends. On days like this, it made him want to scream, to rip and tear, tell everyone that they were blind. _Couldn't they see?_

He moved more like an animal on days like this, when there was that dark weight in the centre of his chest that took a lot to shake. He ranged down the hallway like he was stalking prey, curved a hand around the girl's elbow and slid them both around a corner, down a hallway and to the side, ignoring her initial protests.

"Scott? What the hell is your problem?" Kira Yukimura hissed, snatching her arm back and folding them. Her burnt almond eyes were twisting daggers right into him.

"Right now? Whatever the thing was that strung a piece of wire around my boyfriend's neck and tripped him into it"

"And you think it was me?"

"I don't know, Kira, you tell me" he snarled back, low enough to be called a growl. She pushed him off her, eyes lighting up into the slitted golden-bronze orbs of a fox. Her human teeth flashed warningly and he bared his canines in return.

"We have a deal, McCall. Your pet goat-killer made sure of that. It's our job to make sure you don't get yourself killed, okay?"

"Stiles saw something in the woods last night, okay? Who do you know who hates Stiles and can make people see things that aren't there?"

She laughed, bitter and cruel. It was at odds with her pretty face, her kind mouth. Scott swallowed around a growl that threatened to rise out of his chest.

"Seeing things that aren't there, really? I suppose that makes two of us" she said stiltedly.

Scott flinched guiltily and looked away, his teeth retreating.

"Aww-kward" sing-songed a familiar voice. They both turned their heads sharply, teeth showing again. Stiles was standing at the end of the hallway, coming towards them.

"Firstly, never killed a goat. Secondly; are you serious right now?" he exclaimed, waving a hand in front of his own face to illustrate the problem. Both of them looking chastened, the bronze eyes and fangs disappeared in a blink. With a roll of his eyes, Stiles checked around them and then approached, digging something out of his bag. "Hey Kira, how's the rice business?"

She leaned against the wall, recrossed her arms and flattened her lips before locking gaze with Stiles, an expression that could only described as 'venomous'. When not in it's human form, the soul of a kitsune was contained in a _hoshi no tam_ a, a pearl-like orb that they often carried in their mouths or tails. When Kira and her grandfather had come to Beacon Hills, drawn by the Nemeton's power, they'd caused mischief across the town, ranging from flat tyres or sugar turning to salt to the drowning of a conman and the brake failure of a crooked salesman. When Kira turned her mischief on the Pack, seducing Scott and breaking Lydia's heel halfway down the stairs, they'd taken a stand. Stiles had stolen her _hoshi no tama_ , exacting a promise from her to protect Scott from any harm. Sometimes he felt guilty about it: she'd truly had feelings for Scott, who'd been too wrapped up in Isaac and Allison to notice that he was actually using her. Other times, he remembered Lydia's pale face and pink cast and didn't feel guilty at all. She did make him nervous all the time, however, so he chuckled uneasily, flailed and finally fished out what he was looking for from his bag; a bunch of security images held together with an elastic band.

"Okay, so ignoring the massive unresolved tension we got going on here-"

"Hmph" said Kira, fixing the same expression on Scott, who didn't rise to it, keeping his eyes on Stiles, who raised both his eyebrows. The silence went on for a beat too long, and Scott grabbed the photos to end it.

"What the hell...?" he muttered. Kira snatched them from his fingers, leafing through them.

"Yeah, so, that is what Scott was oh-so pleasantly enquiring if you knew anything about"

"Where'd you get these?" Scott asked as Kira continued to study the images.

"From your dick father. He gave them to me last night. Well. I mean, he left, in plain sight, them, on his desk. In his office"

"You _stole_ these from an _FBI Agent_?" said Kira flatly.

"Wha-no, I...borrowed them, temper-permanently. I asked him for them. Look, whatever, he won't even notice they're gone. Is this you or not?" he gestured at the large, fox-like creature darting through a construction site at the back of the industrial district.

"You know it's not. My form is white, dumbass" she waved the papers.

"So-rry" muttered Stiles as Scott spoke over the top of him.

"Well, does your grandfather know anything? I mean-" he started, and she cut him off sharply.

"No. My grandfather doesn't know anything, and he's still recovering from the last time you wanted to 'just talk' so-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _what_? What? I'm sorry, but I coulda just, like sworn you just said your psycho grandad was 'recovering' from the ass-whooping _he_ gave _us_! I mean, did you actually just-"

"It was not an ass-whooping-" Scott argued defensively.

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look; "Dude, it was so an ass-whooping"

Kira spoke through a shadow of a long, thin muzzle on her partly human face.

"If you go anywhere near him, I will rip your face off, McCall"

"Oh for the love of-! Secrecy! Okay?! Does that word mean nothing to anyone?! It's this thing where you don't show off your freaky mythical monster powers in the middle of the freaking school! Sheesh!" Stiles flailed wildly, rasping from the back of his throat as he blurted out, checking over his shoulders again. When he looked back, Kira's face was human once more.

"It might be a _nogitsune_ okay? We can't be the only fox spirits drawn here. I will ask. For Isaac's sake-" she slammed the papers into Scott's chest. He grunted; she may look slight, but Kira packed a serious punch. "-would hate for you to be down a girlfriend, right?" She strode off without another word, leaving Scott looking outraged and guilty in her wake.

Stiles smacked his shoulder with the back of his arm.

"Ow!" said Scott instinctively.

"You know-" Stiles plucked the images out of his fingers. "-If you'd listened to us about the whole Isaac-Allison thing, this never would have happened"

"What?"

They started down the hall quickly, late for their first class, as Stiles shoved the picture back into his backpack as they walked.

"If you hadn't been kissing Kira while totally in love with your ex- _and_ her boyfriend, we would have it so much easier right now! Like not getting your butts kicked by an old man. Also, just by the way, what is it with you and picking girls who have total raging psychopaths for grandfathers?!"

Scott paused in his step to glare at Stiles.

"Thanks, man, really. I appreciate it"

"No problem, buddy. That's why you keep my around"

"Why _do_ I keep you around?"

"Uh, for the sake of your wolfiness and my all around _saving your ass_ ability?"


	8. Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's baaaaaacccckk!

The knock on the door was brief and functionary. Rafael made a short, distracted sound of admittance and didn't look up from his work.

"Agent McCall? There's a man here to see you?"

"Who?"

"Ah he didn't-hey!"

Rafael looked up. There was a well dressed, dark-blond haired man standing in the doorway with the surprised deputy.

"Excuse me, who are you?" he demanded, standing up. The man smiled, impeccable.

"Let's just say that I am an expert in the field of certain monthly habits of a select few" he said smoothly, gesturing grandiosely with one hand. Rafael froze and eyed him. His palm itched as he flicked his gaze to the frowning deputy. Quickly, he smoothed his features.

"Ah, yes, the consultant. The Donovan case. I am so sorry, it's been a crazy morning. Why don't you take a seat, mister...?"

The stranger smiled brightly and moved forward with the liquid grace of a predator.

"Thank you so much!"

Rafael gritted his teeth and looked at the deputy, who was still frowning in the doorway.

"Thanks, deputy, ahh...that'll be all" he stumbled, the man's name slipping his mind. With a grunt, the other man left, and Rafael returned his attention to the man now sitting across from him, fingers forming a polite steeple, blue eyes piercing and intelligent.

"So. Who are you?" Rafael demanded, leaning on his desktop so he could loom over the other man. He smiled again, in the way of a fox about to devour a chicken.

"I am...interested in securing your son's wellbeing. What more do you need to know?"

" _Everything_ " McCall hissed, knuckles whitening on the desktop. The man smirked. "Starting with your name" The corner of the smirk dropped an touch. He gave a short, sharp, resigned sigh and dropped his hands to the arms of the chair.

"My name is Peter Hale. And no, I'm not dead. I mean I was, briefly, but this is hardly the place to discuss that"

Rafael's eyes widened and he straightened, reaching for his piece from under his jacket. Peter raised a hand to halt him. "Now, now don't do that! Don't do that. Let's, discuss this. Like adults. Hm?"

"You turned my son into...you tried to kill my wife"

" _Ex_ -wife, I believe, and no. I never would have hurt Melissa. I quite like her. At one time I wanted her by my side-" Rafael had the gun on the desktop, safety off, before Peter could finish. He showed his hands in surrender. "-but, I see that is, not what you'd like to hear, so. Let's talk about Scott" He clapped his hands together like an overly chirpy therapist.

"You ruined his _life_ "

Peter dropped the brightness immediately.

"I made him _better_. Greater. Stronger. No more asthma, the chance at the girl of his dreams...and boy too I am lead to understand. He's a busy man, your son. He's a sporting hero, first line at lacrosse, captain of the team. What more could a teenage boy want?"

"A normal life" Rafael spat.

"Normal?-" Peter snorted derisively. "- _Human_. Pathetic" He leaned forward, prompting Rafael to flinch backwards. "You've seen what we can do, Agent McCall. We're stronger, faster, than you could ever imagine. It's a gift...that is, wasted on youth. I could show you this world"

"I don't think I'm interested"

Peter smiled that terrible, cold smile of his again. He raised a hand slowly and tapped his ear. "I can hear you lying, Agent McCall. I think you're very interested"

There was a long pause and the two faced off silently across the desk. Minutely, Rafael let himself sink back down into his chair. Peter leaned back, crossing his ankle onto his knee and resting his laced fingers on the raised leg.

"I thought only an Alpha could turn someone into..." said Rafael slowly.

"Ah. Yes, there is that. Which is why I am here, and I see already that you're concerned for Scott's welfare. Being an Alpha is such a _terrible_ responsibility"  

Rafael leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Scott is only a boy, Rafael-sorry, may I, call you Rafael?"

The FBI Agent narrowed his eyes. "Go on" he said instead.

Peter smiled humbly and unwound his long legs, speaking persuasively with his hands.

"So very, very young. He should be given the chance to enjoy his life, to make mistakes, and explore. You can't do these things as an Alpha. Every decision you make is life or death. Every little action has severe consequences. Scott will never be able to go to a party, never be able to forget about life for a while. He must be strong and able and constantly on his guard. The things they've been fighting? It's only just the beginning. Do you really want to level such a burden at your own son?"

The words struck hard inside Rafael. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking of the slouched line of Scott's shoulders, of the blood all over his arms the night at Derek's loft. How cold his eyes were when he leapt heedlessly out of the window to Isaac's aid. He raised hand and rasped it over his eyes and mouth, a deep, thoughtful furrow dividing his forehead. Finally, he looked back at Peter, who had been silent the whole time.

"What's your plan?"

"Well, you'll forgive me if I don't show all my cards at once. Scott and Stiles are, after all, not my biggest fans"

"From what I hear, they have good reason not to be...Jesus, wait, _you_? You're the one who tried to bite Stiles" He remembered the wide eyes and clenched jaw of the boy in the forest, the way his shoulder had defensively hunched.

"I only  _offered_ -" Peter insisted firmly, and then softened with a smile. "-but can you imagine? Stiles is already a force to be reckoned with, purely on guts and intellect. Give him strength and speed and ability...he'd be unstoppable"

Rafael suppressed a shudder at the very thought. "So what? You're obviously offering to be the Alpha in Scott's place but...-"

**_"...well, normally a Beta becomes an Alpha by killing one, but I didn't kill anyone. I just, sorta, became...an Alpha. Like I decided or something"_ **

 "-...how exactly do you think Scott is going to enjoy his life if he's dead" said Rafael harshly, remembering Scott's words.

"I don't want to hurt Scott. You see, Rafael, I bit him, I turned him. He is mine to protect, he's...like a son to me" Peter vowed fervently. "There are other ways of going from one to the other. After all, Derek is no longer Alpha and he is very much alive"

"You're saying that you could—what—take away, Scott's Alpha...powers?" he fumbled for the right word, but Peter didn't seem to notice. He nodded seriously.

"Very much so. Scott could have all the perks and none of the responsibility"

Rafael clenched his hands together and rested his elbows on the desktop. Peter smiled again, rose and brushed himself off.

"Well, I'll leave you to contemplate...ah, but...before I do..."

McCall looked up at Peter from under his furrowed brows.

"Fifteen year old Paige Johnson. Animal attack, 2003" said Peter like a trump card. 

"Why would I care about an animal attack?"

"Disappointing, Agent McCall. You've been here long enough to be suspicious of any death in Beacon Hills that the coroner rules 'animal attack', surely"

* * *

 

 

There was a very sharp point centered on his nose when Rafael walked into his hotel room that night.

"Whoa! What the-!"

"Shut up. Where is he?"

It was Allison Argent, levelling a crossbow at the middle of his face, her hair pulled back, exposing her sharp, angular features. He flicked on the light with one of his raised hands, replying crossly.

"I don't know what you're-"

" _Bullshit_! Where is Peter Hale?" she snarled, stepped even closer. His back hit the door as he avoided the weapon.

"Allison, I don't know what you're talking about, now put that down before I make you!"

She made a disbelieving sound, but she lowered the crossbow, pointing the steel-tipped bolt at the ground. Movement behind her made Rafael realise she wasn't alone; Lydia was standing by the kitchenette.

"How the hell did you get in here?" he demanded, more shaken than he was willing to admit. The girls ignored him.

"Peter's back in Beacon Hills. You told us you'd tell us if he showed up again. Instead, my Dad tells us that he saw him. Some asset he's turned out to be"

Allison turned at last to Lydia, gesturing at Rafael with her crossbow. Lydia didn't reply. She was staring right at Rafael, and he swallowed when he saw her face. This was not the flawless, ruthless being who'd cornered him in a coffee shop. She was paler than he'd ever see her, her face completely unmasked, like somebody had shaved her features down to the bone.

"Did you know, or not?" she asked.

"Know wh-about Hale? No. Of course not!"

Allison looked frustrated. "Should've bought Isaac" she muttered. "Who's side are you even on?!"

"Scott's! I am on Scott's side! I want what is best for my son"

Lydia made a wounded sound. "That's how he'd make it sound. Oh God-" she whimpered. "-That's how Peter would sell it"

"Sell what?" said Rafael, confused at her weakness.

"Anything! Whatever it is that he's up to. He'd use you!"

"Why him? We don't even trust him" said Allison.

Rafael almost defended himself, and then realised she was right, and went quiet. Lydia was looking right at him, direct and penetrating, like she was trying to burrow inside his soul.

"I was the one who bought Peter Hale back from the dead. Perks of being a banshee. I've got a direct private line to the other side" Lydia began, hugging her middle. "You have no idea what Peter Hale is capable of. He crawled inside my head, McCall, and he played in there like a rabid _dog_. If I find out that you've been lying to us...the consequences will not be pretty, do you understand?"

"I am an Federal Agent, Miss Martin, you should really rethink threatening me" he blustered.

"I am not threatening you" she told him softly, and followed Allison out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, word to the wise, don't fuck with Allison's girlfriend, okay? She will open a whole new can of whoop-ass on all of y'all!!


	9. Ephemeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall pisses off his ex-wife on her sort-of-not-date at a lacrosse game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Running under the assumption that Gerard has been transferred to a palliative care unit)

The night was brilliant, crisp, clean air and a clear and flawless sky arching above the illuminated sanctuary of the field. The stands were packed, and McCall had been forced to park a block away due to the ocean of cars. BHHS didn’t have a cheer squad, but there was a gang of people in the front rows with their faces painted, doing a pretty passable impression. The away team and their supporters took up a third of the stands and overflowed to ring the field as well. As he climbed the steps to where he’d spotted Melissa sitting, he saw Stiles shoulder-to-shoulder with Scott and Isaac, whooping and laughing and generally having the time of their lives. Scott was half bent over laughing at something Stiles had said, a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. The speakers were playing a scratchy, static-washed version of the Top 40 and the coach was bellowing and waving his whistle around.

Melissa had a beam on her face that made her seem years younger, but it disappeared when his shadow fell over her.

“Rafael. What are you doing here?”

He smiled and slid onto the bench beside her. “I can’t come and watch my son play?”

She’d scooted along, putting some distance between them. “In my experience, not without an ulterior motive” she said flatly, eyes on the field.

He followed her gaze to where the players were stretching and warming up. Scott had his back turned, head together with a couple of other players, nudging one another and eyeing their opponents. Isaac, however, was looking up towards her.

 _You okay?_   He mouthed at her, flicking his eyes pointedly from Rafael to her. Melissa smiled reassuringly, and then playfully gestured for him to listen to Scott. Isaac lifted one corner of his mouth shyly and set about checking his gear as he focused.

“The, ah, that Lahey boy. He’s living with you and Scott isn’t he?”

“We went through the courts a month ago, I’m his legal guardian” she said, falsely bright, her dark eyes daring him to question her further.

“That was quick” he said in a similar tone, and looked down the field to where the Sheriff in his uniform jacket was buying chilli fries from a tired mobile vendor. Melissa ignored the implication with point like a knife.

“Well, he was a high-risk placement for a foster family”

“ _Was_?” he echoed disbelievingly.

The Sheriff was at the bottom of the bleachers, pausing to speak to...McCall started when he recognised the Hale siblings sitting there. Derek turned around in his seat to look at him, and the Agent’s heart thudded painfully. He was _not_ scared of Derek Hale, he kept telling himself. As the big, dark-haired man turned back to Sheriff and said something with a sneer curled in his top lip, he let himself revise that opinion a little. After all, Hale was a stone-cold killer and had been from a very young age, if his investigations into the death of young Paige were any indication.

“And how do you manage the fact that they’re sleeping together?” he enquired probingly.

“Scott and Isaac? Through a careful balance of tact and mortifying the hell out of them. Chris’ gun collection helps too, of course”

“Chris Argent?”

She made an affirmative sound and he shifted slightly. The Sheriff was starting up the stairs and the teams were pulling into the huddles before the starting whistle. He could hear the Beacon Hills coach shouting from way up on the bleachers, something about cupcakes, unicorns and Armageddon.

“How does Argent feel about his daughter’s...relationship?”

“Well, he got a kick out of telling his psychotic, ignorant father that the prodigal daughter is screwing two ‘wolves” she said wryly, prompting McCall to choke on air for a moment as the Sheriff joined them.

“McCall. Nice night for it” he greeted his old nemesis with mock-sincerity and a nauseatingly sweet smile, clambering over the other man’s legs and cramming himself between the two of them.

“How’s Stiles?” Melissa asked, not budging, instead staying exactly where she was, her whole side pressed against the Sheriff’s. She even went as far as looping her arm through his.

“Ready to kick some Wildcat ass, I think” replied the Sheriff proudly, taking her contact in his stride and offering her the chilli fries.

“She doesn’t eat them” bit out McCall smugly. The Sheriff gave him a strange look as Melissa scooped up a mouthful with the tips of her fingers. Rafael looked on, surprised.

“Since when?” the Sheriff addressed her.

“Since he never liked them so I didn’t eat them” she replied, popping two in her mouth.

McCall gaped as the whistle blew and the teams piled onto the pitch to the soundtrack of cheering. Stiles was benched but seemed unaffected, whooping and hollering. Scott scored the winning goal, taking a beautiful set up by Isaac and one of their other teammates. The curly-haired Beta ran at the Alpha, cheering, and was lifted off his feet, held above Scott’s head with Scott’s arms wrapped around his thighs. Laughing, Isaac punched the air with his stick and leaned down to slam a kiss against Scott’s mouth. Their teammates crowded around them as the Alpha let Isaac back onto his feet.

“Well where’s my kiss, McCall?!” joked the other teammate who’d helped set up the goal. Scott looked so young in that moment, head thrown back, laughing, dropped his gear to tackle Stiles, in the midst of the team, all of them celebrating loudly. So carefree, wild and uninhibited, as he began a rousting, loud chorus of some victory anthem, waving his lacrosse stick in the air, his face flushed and swallowed by a smile. Rafael watched as Cora ran over and kissed Stiles, squarely on the mouth in the middle of the field. He looked shocked and wide-eyed for a moment before relaxing into it, wrapping his arms around her as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Whoa” murmured the Sheriff, going to stand. Melissa stopped him.

“They are _celebrating_ , Sheriff” she scolded him.

Derek was standing up at the base of the bleachers, clapping, with what could almost be called a smile in the side of his mouth. Stiles was swinging Cora around, a grin splitting his face. Allison was being piggybacked by Isaac, Scott standing beside them, whooping, Lydia waving a homemade sign around from where she was perched on Ethan’s shoulders. The Alpha werewolf was holding Danny’s goalie mask, actually looking almost like a teenager for once as he grinned wildly and stole kisses with the other boy.

_**“So very, very young. He should be given the chance to enjoy his life, to make mistakes, and explore. You can’t do these things as an Alpha. Every decision you make is life or death. Every little action has severe consequences. Scott will never be able to go to a party, never be able to forget about life for a while. He must be strong and able and constantly on his guard...”** _

Rafael stood abruptly from where he’d been staring at the celebrations, clenched hands pressed to his mouth, and walked off without a word. He passed by Derek, the two of them exchanging a long look, loaded with intention, a moment akin to a shark who’d recently fed cruising past prey. The big, cerulean-eyed Beta let him go, arms folded across his broad chest, but Rafael could feel his eyes on him as he disappeared into the night.

* * *

 

“Hey, you awake?”

“Scott?” he grunted in response, bewildered, sitting up in bed.

“Yeah. So, um, what do, you like know about body removal?”

“ _What_?”


	10. Gunshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael helps the Pack get away with murder.

It was late at night, a few days after their legendary lacrosse game, and Rafael had until a moment ago been enjoying some uneasy, thought-plagued sleep. Now he was piling himself into his car, bleary-eyed, wearing yesterday’s socks, track pants and a singlet with his shoulder holster unbuckled, slung mostly around his neck. In his hand with his keys and phone he was clutching a piece of hotel stationary with an address scrawled on it. It was well across town, and by the time he got there, he’d woken up enough to feel utterly terrified. What the hell had he done wrong in a past life to be driving into the poorest part of town to help his only child get rid of a _body_?!

He jogged up to the front of the untidy apartment building and buzzed the right number. Nothing happened, but when he tried the gate it gave way and swung open. He removed his piece and started forward. The elevator was broken, so he took to the stairwell and redialled the number of the Pack’s burner cell with his thumb.

_“Yeah, go, it’s Isaac”_

“Isaac, it’s Rafael McCall. I’m on the stairs. Where-”

 _“Third floor, turn right, eighth door”_ the werewolf rattled off and hung up.

Rafael stared at the phone in his hand grumpily for a moment, then pocketed it and followed his gunpoint up. The lights were yellowed, flickering, haunted by the buzzing of insects. A siren screamed not far away, glass shattered and a person swore. He lengthened his stride, hitting the third floor landing and swinging right.

“Whoa! Dude, holy shit!”

He’d almost knocked Stiles out as he came up, his gun square in the middle of the teenager's face before Stiles knocked it away.

“ _Jesus_! What-would you put that thing away! Holy-! What is wrong with you?!” cried Stiles frantically, almost under his breath.

“I heard-I thought-” he panted.

“Ah, no. Have you seen where you are? Trying to get yourself a Columbian necktie or something?!”

“A Columbian-! Stiles, what are you talking about?”

The teen made an exasperated noise and flickered his fingers in a gesture to follow him. There was graffiti on the walls and empty cans littering the ground with a liberal sprinkling of cigarette butts.

“What is this place?” Rafael hissed.

“This is the twin’s place. We got a situation” Stiles explained grimly, coming to unit 38 and rapping on the door with his knuckles. A lock rattled and the door swung open, letting out a flood of bright light and Isaac’s silhouette.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Oh, I’m just freaking amazing, Isaac, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal” Stiles drawled, shouldering his way inside. Isaac rolled his eyes, but seemed to relax anyway, as though so long as Stiles was being a sarcastic asshole, everything was right in the world, despite the bloody, ripped state of his clothing. Ethan and Aiden were standing in an adjoined kitchen-dining room with Scott and a girl Rafael didn’t recognise, a pretty, Asian-featured teen with a bloody gash across her face and torn sleeves. Ethan looked like he’d been through the same woodchipper as her, but Aiden seemed okay. Scott, to Rafael’s relief, looked grim and uneasy but basically unharmed. What took most of his attention, however, was the body-shaped package in a dirty sheet laying on the floor, blood soaking onto the kitchen tiles.

“Jesus. What the hell happened?” he blurted out.

“Direct. To the point. Totally unhelpful. Yup, I can see why you called daddy-o, Scott” clipped Stiles.

"And you call _me_ unhelpful. Shut up Stiles” said Isaac tiredly.

Stiles threw his hands in the air and paced the dining room, muttering to himself.

“So this is your dad?” asked the Asian girl curiously.

“Yes-” Rafael said, as at the same time, Scott said; “Sort of”

The two of them looked at each abruptly.

“Awwkwardd” sang Stiles.

“Shut up Stiles” chorused two or three voices, at least one of which said ‘Stilinski’ instead.

“Scott. What happened?” Rafael demanded, folding his arms firmly. He tried not to feel hurt that Scott hesitated to name him his father.

“You know the thing that we said was making Stiles see things in the woods the other night?” Scott said, gesturing to the body.

“The Nemeton?”

“Wha-no, ah, well, not this time-” Stiles snorted, darkly humoured and Scott grimaced. “We thought it was the kitsune in town, but-”

“You were embarrassingly wrong and owe said kitsune an apology or ten” said the girl pointedly, studying her laces.

“Sure, after you apologise for trying to kill Lydia that time” Stiles shot back.

“Guys! Enough” Scott ordered.

Everything fell quiet immediately, despite his never having raised his voice. He looked between them sternly and then nodded again to McCall.

“We were wrong. It was a _nogitsune_ , a bad trickster. It came after Isaac again tonight, when we were out looking for it. It got the jump on him and Ethan, but Kira and I heard them...it got ugly” Scott finished, unnecessarily.

“Why’d you call me?”

“We didn’t know what to do with it”

“What do you mean? Why not leave it in the woods? Another in the very long list of ‘animal attack’ victims in Beacon Hills” Scott hesitated, glancing at Stiles before he could help himself, and then quickly looking down as if to cover up the unconscious action. Rafael looked over at the other teen, who sighed shortly, reached around to the back of his jeans and yanked something up, bringing it to the front. It was a revolver, black and gleaming malicious intent. He jiggled it as emphasis.

“Ah” said McCall painfully and stared at the body again. “Is that gun registered to your father?”

“Yeah, coz I’m really gunna let you toss my Dad under the bus”

McCall glared at him and Stiles returned the expression before continuing. “No. It’s not registered at all”

“Where the hell did you-! No. Nope. I do not want to know” he decided abruptly after a quick look at Stiles’ raised eyebrows. He squatted down and flicked the sheet back from the top half. To his rising horror, the face beneath it was decidedly human, male, Japanese, with a blood-stained mouth and wide, staring eyes. He swallowed hard, refusing to let himself be affected. It was just another crime scene- Oh. But, God help him, he was going to help cover this up wasn’t he? He looked up at his son’s face, and couldn’t help but think of the very first time he’d seen it. He’d been laying in the cradle at the hospital, two days old. Rafael had been working on a massive kidnapping case and hadn’t been able to get away until the reports were written up. It seemed such a weak excuse for not being there, now that he was staring at his boy, coolly brushing crusting blood off his hands as he watched his father study a corpse he’d helped put there.

**_“-life or death-” “-severe consequences-” “-Greater. Stronger-”_ **

“No body, no case. Beacon Hills is a jurisdictional nightmare at the moment, it’ll never be properly investigated-”

“He won’t even exist on paper anyway” commented Kira.

“Why not?”

“Because he was over five hundred years old” she shrugged.

Rafael blinked at her for a moment and then pressed his finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, moving on.

“Stiles, you need to lose that gun. Bleach everything and then use a shitload of cologne and dirty laundry to get rid of the bleach smell-” he stood and put his hands on his hips. “-we can use my car for the body parts” he decided.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Now, let’s get to it. We need tools nobody is going to miss to take it apart”

Isaac’s claws snicked into existence. Scott’s face hardened.

“We got it” he said.

Jesus Christ. His son was stepping forward to dismember a body, mouth set determinedly, none of the horror even scarring his features. As they unwrapped the body and all set to work, Rafael stepped back and thought of the file on his desk with the name Peter Hale on it.

It was well into the dawn as he and Scott tossed two garbage bags into the back of his SUV. Stiles and Isaac had already left. Scott took a pause with his hands on the back of the car, looking down, eyes closed, just breathing.

“Hey, Scott...”

The boy looked up slowly, like he didn’t have the energy for anything else. He’d said “See you at school” to the twins when they’d left their rundown apartment, leaving Rafael with a cold, heavy feeling in his guts. The alien interplay between what was normal teenage behaviour and this brutal conflict that absorbed their lives the other half of the time made him feel sick, but they seemed to cling to it.

“Derek Hale, he’s not an Alpha anymore, is that right?”

“He gave it up. For Cora. She was hurt really bad, and Peter...he told Derek there was a way to use his Alpha powers to make her better” Scott said the name like it was venomous and Rafael tried not to show the lance of guilt that went through him.

“And did it...affect him? In a negative way?”

Scott shrugged. “Hard to tell. I mean, Derek is, like, all kinds of messed up. I mean that on a good day. But he’d do it again, he said, so I think he’s okay. I mean, Cora and Peter are all he’s got left. I think that makes it different”

“Well, I mean, Peter is his family too. Derek must trust him to, you know, risk his life with this Alpha powers, trade, thing...To risk Cora’s life as well, I suppose”

Scott looked at him hard, suddenly looking a lot more awake.

“Peter is a total, raging psycho. He killed Laura, tried to kill Lydia, and bit me. Derek killed him once already. He crawled inside Lydia's head and assaulted her so badly she _bought him back from the dead._ Trusting Peter is a bad idea” cautioned Scott.

“Right. No, of course” assured Rafael, backpedalling.

“Okay, so, just so you know, I can hear you lie. So when I tell you that Lydia thinks Peter’s been talking to you? Trying to get you on his side...” said Scott carefully, eyeing him.

Rafael firmly put his hand on Scott’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“Listen to me, right now, Scott McCall. I know I haven’t been a great father. I know that. But I am trying to make it better right now, okay? I promise you, that we are going to be a family again. And you’re going to be great. I am on your side, do you understand? Nobody else’s. I am on _your_ side, son”

Scott squinted at him but said nothing further. He tried to insist on coming with Rafael to the border, cutting through cross country, to deposit the body, but Rafael fought him down on it. Instead, he dropped him off outside of his house. Isaac was there already, standing on the porch, watching as Scott stumbled out and across the lawn. He paused at the step and waved back to Rafael, hesitantly. Warmed by the small gesture of solidarity, conflicted by the decision before him, Rafael drove away.


	11. Autumn Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall messes up.

The room seemed to go into some kind of slow motion as McCall ducked into the waiting room of the Sheriff's station. The first person he saw was Stiles, standing with one arm folded around his middle and the fingers of his other hand against his mouth. His head turned to the sound of the door, his fingers falling away from his mouth, and he looked right into Rafael in a glance, before he twisted away, his body following his head. Scott was sitting with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, head down, and he too lifted his gaze, first to Rafael, and then still slowly to Stiles. Stiles locked eyes briefly with Scott as the Alpha stood in a long, sinuous movement, and then Stiles was also in motion, catching Cora Hale as she threw herself across the room towards Rafael. In a rush of blood flowing past his ear drums, the room rushed into normal speed again.

"Cora, Cor, babe, no, c'mon, no-"

"-king _bastard_ , traitorous, fucking  _asshole_ , do you know what this will _do_ to him _you_ -!"

She was so furious, so helpless as she stopped struggling against Stiles, afraid of hurting him, that she was almost in tears. Hot redness had swelled up in her eyes as she blinked back Beta gold iris' and sobs.

"C'mere, I got you, come here" murmured Stiles, pulling her tight again. She struggled for a heartbeat longer and then sagged tiredly against him. He tucked her face into his neck.

"Scott" growled Stiles warningly over his girlfriend's head.

"I got it" interrupted Isaac, also in attendance. The Beta's eyes were human, but only in colour. Rafael had never seen an angry person so calm before. It rattled him to the bone.

"What are you all doing here?" McCall demanded.

Scott was standing, and he stopped Isaac's stalk towards the Agent with a hand on the taller boy's arm.

"Trying to stop Cora from killing you. Guys, get rid of him" Stiles said tensely.

"I beg your pardon" said Rafael icily.

"If you seriously value your life, stop talking. Like today. Because I swear I will help her clean up" snarled Isaac. Scott murmured his name, reached out and put his hand on the side of his Beta's neck. Isaac stilled and looked down at him.

"It's gunna be okay" Scott assured him. His voice was hoarse and he sounded almost groggy. Isaac searched his face for a moment and then leaned in and kissed him. Rafael startled and looked away, shifting, not sure what to do. Scott's hand tightened on his neck. When he drew away, Scott smiled reassuringly. "Can you call Allison?" he asked softly, drawing Isaac back to something normal. Isaac nodded and as Scott's hand dropped away, he sent Rafael a scorching glare.

Then Scott faced the man alone, shoulders pulled back, chin held up stubborn and fierce.

"We need to talk" he informed McCall firmly. He followed his father into the shoebox office, where Rafael hoped to gain back some of the ground he'd lost in the tense, angry atmosphere outside. He'd been inside jails with 60% of the inmates there because of him and felt less animosity than he had in that room. Settled behind his desk, he gestured welcomingly for Scott to take a seat. The teen didn't. Instead he paced the office, scratched the back of his head and finally settled with his back to the desk, fingers the bubbled glass on the door.

"You arrested Derek for Paige's murder" he opened with, slowly.

Rafael frowned. There was something wrong with Scott, something tired and unsteady, like he was concussed or sleep deprived.

"New evidence. An anonymous informant" explained Rafael, patiently.

"And did _Peter_ tell you the whole story?"

Rafael froze. Unseen by the Agent, Scott closed his eyes, his body tensing up like he'd been struck.

" _Oh my God_..." he breathed out and turned. His expression was heartbroken. He was nearly crying as he stared across the room at Rafael and the space of a few feet may as well have been a continent. Rafael couldn't make words come to him. He stood up slowly, still struggling for anything to say. "I...I should have listened to Stiles" Scott choked out, turning away as if he couldn't even look at the man whose surname he shared.

"Scott, listen to me. I had a job to do, I have to-"

"No. You had your chance, Dad. To be a part of my life...but you hurt my _Pack_ -" his voice, wavering and weak, suddenly strengthened, as if the word alone was enough to bolster him. "-Derek didn't deserve this. We're done here" He moved as if to leave the room and Rafael hurried out from behind his desk, finally on equal standing with him.

"He's a murderer, Scott! You said you weren't a killer, you told me-"

"You ignorant _moron_! He was in _love_! He was _fifteen_ and _scared_ and was _manipulated_ and used. The bite either changes you or it _kills_ you. Ennis. Killed. Paige. He bit her. If you'd asked, I'd have told you that!-"

"Did Derek tell you that?" scowled Rafael, as if this should have been obvious. Scott looked frustrated.

"No. Peter did" he played the trump card and watched the impact ripple on McCall's face. "Derek had to watch her die. He fell for someone he wasn't supposed to. I dunno, I've had my issues with Derek, like a lot, of issues, but I kind of get that" he finished sarcastically.

"So what are you gunna do now, Scott? You and your little friends gunna stage a jailbreak? Huh? Steal another prison van?" snapped Rafael.

Scott rocked back on his heels, his face mulishly set. He smoothed his expression, shaking his head with a grimace, and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, opening it as he spoke.

"No, we're not. From now on, you come near my house, my Pack or my mum, there will be hell to pay-" he held out a business card up between them, resting it on his fingers with his thumb secured over the name. Frowning, McCall took it. "-see you in court" said Scott, grimly triumphant and stood there replacing his wallet while McCall read the name.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"He comes highly recommended from Jackson Whittimore, who will be covering all legal expenses. Good luck"

"Whittimore?" said McCall, incredulous. Scott shrugged and opened the door.

"He's Pack. So's Derek. That's it"

He left.

* * *

 

The autumn had come early to Beacon Hills. The birds were in the air, cold and sharp and scented with orange leaves. Rafael McCall worked at a kink in his neck as he stood under the sighing boughs of a big oak tree.

"Good evening Agent McCall"

He jumped and spun around to face the smooth tones that had apparently come out of nowhere. Peter Hale stood with his usual sardonic smile, sharply dressed again with his hair smoothed back and his features groomed. "You called?"

McCall glanced at the tree, where he'd left a triskele in red paint on the trunk this morning. Now the night time was closing in cold and sharp around them and every breeze across the undergrowth made him shiver.

"Did you know?" he asked shakily, still looking at the tree trunk.

"Know the little lizardy bastard was going to pull out the big, Cambridge-educated guns? No. Sorry about that" He didn't sound sorry.

"Know that that other Alpha bit Paige Johnson" corrected Rafael sharply.

"Ah-" commented Peter, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. "-weelll...yes. It was my idea"

Rafael stared at him. "You told me-!"

"The truth. Paige died with Derek's claws in her spine. You've done the world a service. Taken a dangerous man off the streets-"

"Scott _hates_ me. He filed a _restraining_ order against me!" cried McCall, and wished he were drunker than he was.

"Every parent makes sacrifices for their child. You're trying to help him. I mean, just because he won't let you..."

"And just what do you plan to do about that?" growled Rafael, beginning to pace angrily along the edge of the trees.

Peter's smile unfurled coldly. "Have you be the hero, of course. Scott just needs a little persuasion. A threat to those he holds most dear should just about be the awakening he needs"

A thrill of horror ran through Rafael as he watched the werewolf smirk at him and all at once he realised he'd made a terrible mistake. "No. You're not hurting them. This is over, Hale. You stay the hell away from Isaac and Allison, or I swear to God..."

Peter smiled like a hidden tripwire.


	12. Toy Soldiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Pack fractured and Scott in danger, Stiles takes the helm and teams up with McCall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF!Stiles ahead people! Prepare your reproductive organs

Rafael McCall woke up in pain. His stomach lurched as he sat up, the world too bright, his pulse ringing in his ears as his temples throbbed. Warbled, broken, meaningless sounds rolled around his skull as he pushed himself vaguely upright and sagged onto his side again. Bile burned the back of his throat as he groaned and pressed a hand to his face. His fingers came away sticky and he stared, uncomprehending, at the flakes of blood on his fingers for a long time as he tried to work through the bells sounding in his head.

"-ster? Hey, man, look, we're gunna call you an ambulance, but you gotta stand up so we can get you to the road, okay? Buddy? Can you hear me?"

The young man was wearing jogging gear, and a girl about the same age was standing a ways off, talking into a cell. Rafael lurched, blinked and memories rushed back into his bruised mind, hitting him like a freight train.

"Scott" he croaked aloud as he tried to stand. The ground pitched and he staggered into his rescuer, knocking him into a tree. He leaned on him and scanned for his phone and keys, holding the gash on his face. He couldn't find his keys, and when he fumbled his phone off the ground, it's black, cracked screen seemed to mock his dull reflection.

"Your phone. I need your phone, please" Rafael begged, as the man settled him more comfortably.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, here just siddown for a second. Are they coming?" he asked aside to the girl as he dug a cell out of his armband.

Groggily, Rafael remembered Scott had one the same, for when he had to run in wolf-form and tore his clothes apart. The keys on the other man's cell mocked him, moving under his trembling fingers so that it took him a couple of tries to dial Scott's number from memory. Somewhere through the woods, he could hear a siren squealing, but it was impossible to track in the thick echoes of the timber.

_"Hey, you've reached Scott. I can't come to the phone right now, but you can leave a message or call Stiles on 854-9268"_

Rafael's heart sank and he closed his eyes as the world before him became too much.

"Scott...Scott, listen...to me... I'm sorry, okay? I am so sorry, but I messed up. I messed up and he's...it's Peter. It's Peter...I...just...just call me back as soon as you get this, do you understand me? You call me, Scott, right...right away..."

The next time he opened his eyes he was in a hospital room. It was all white, too white, and he felt immediately sick and shoved himself mercilessly upright. When he swung open the door, there was a deputy standing there.

"Get Stilinski, I need an APB put out, and I need somebody to do a drive-by on my house and find my son-"

"Whoa, just hold on a second, there, sir. We're gunna need a statement first. How about you sit back down while I get a nurse-"

"I don't have the damn time for this crap, Deputy!"

"Oh, on the contrary mister, I think you do" It was funny that even after years of being divorced, that particular tone of voice still made Rafael's back twinge which the unspoken threat of sleeping on the couch. She was marching towards them with a clipboard under one arm, a stethoscope around her neck with the kind of strides that belonged on a victorious battlefield to carry a general across the corpses of her slain enemies.

"Melissa! Where the hell is Scott?"

"Scott? He's...he should be at home. Deputy, if you'll excuse us" she trailed into thoughtfulness for a second and then snapped back to attention, smiling briefly to the Deputy. He stuck his hands in his belt and puffed out his chest. Melissa's hand was steady on Rafael's arm and he was grateful for it. His legs felt boneless, and he had one hand on the doorframe to keep himself standing.

"Just a moment, m'am, I need to ask Agent McCall here a few questions" Rafael immediately regretting being such a stomping, holier-than-thou twit over the course of his investigations in Beacon Hills, because if the gleam in the young Deputy's eyes was anything to do by, this particular questioning was very little beyond stone cold payback.

"Can it wait? Agent McCall has-"

"It'll just take a moment, m'am. Sir, can you describe your attacker?"

Rafael paused, mouth open, and remembered that the man who'd laid him out cold last night had been a five year coma patient, and then dead...

"How do you know I was attacked? I haven't said anything" he snapped instead. Melissa cleared her throat and gestured vaguely to his reflection in the observation window beside them. He glanced at it, and saw the fist-shaped mess Peter had made out of his temple. With a short, sharp sigh out of his nose, he faced the Deputy again.

"I didn't see him" he said bluntly.

"But you say 'him'?"

"I assume it was a 'him'"

"What were you doing in the woods?"

"Taking a _walk_ " he gritted out. The Deputy raised his eyebrows in a gesture that Rafael recognised.

"At night? Alone? In the woods?"

"I am pretty sure that you've seen stranger things in this town, Deputy. Now, if you don't mind...I think I need to lie down" his voice went far weaker towards the end of his sentence than he had originally intended, as Melissa helped him back into the room and into bed. 

"What's going on, Rafael? Did Scott do this?" she demanded the moment the door closed.

"No, God no, of course not-" he blinked at his own vehement denial, recalling the way Scott had nearly grinned at him before laying him out cold at the beginning of all this. "-Not this time, anyway. It was _Peter_. He's going after Scott, we have to find him"

"Oh my God. Here, call Stiles. I'm going to see if I can get through to John"

"Where the hell is he anyway?" he grouched, taking her mobile phone.

"There's a hostage situation a couple of towns over. Happened this morning. Big explosion. We've been wading through injuries all day"

"Wait, what?!" he nearly dropped the phone. Melissa looked grey and pushed her hair out of her face.

"Some guys took over a grocery store. I don't know, we're not getting much. Find Scott, okay?"

He nodded dumbly and stared at the phone in his hand. It was too neat, he knew it was too neat to be coincidence, but the only one who would believe him was on the other end of this line and hated the very ground he walked on.

"Uh, Melissa you are a goddess of all things, but this better be _so_ good" Stiles' breathless voice informed him.

"Stiles! Thank God, look, I- it's Peter he-and—God, help me, I...I fucked up, and I think Scott's in trouble" he blurted out, spinning on the spot, relief flooding through him. He felt like a child again.

"Who the hell-?! Wait, _McCall_? Where is Scott? What about Peter?"

Peter had moved like something out of science fiction last night. He'd twisted his head and shown his fangs in the moonlight, and been on him before McCall could react. Terror ran through his veins at the memory, freezing him in place, the phone cradled to his ear, Stiles' demanding, loud voice bordering on panic. There was a girl talking in the background too, probably Cora Hale. He shook himself, finally, and forced himself to answer.

"I-I'm at the hospital-"

"Is Scott there? Jesus, Cor, call Deaton!"

"No, no he's not here. I don't know where he is, I can't get him on his phone-" he paused while Stiles told Cora to find Scott instead, then continued shakily. "-I was with Peter last night, I...he said...he's going to force Scott to give up his Alpha powers. He's going to use Allison and Isaac, I think, to make him do it. Or Melissa, or-"

"When was this?" Stiles' voice was stern, adult, and oscillated as he jogged somewhere. He heard a door shut, more running, and then a car door slamming.

"Last night"

" _When_ last night, dammit, dude! I need to know when and I need to know where and—tell him to find Scott. Tell him I need to know where everyone is now—and I need to get your fucking act together, okay?!" Stiles snarled out, having two conversations at once as an engine roared to life and took off into second gear. Rafael felt the boy's words begin to surge through him like electricity, felt his spine straighten, a soldier to his general.

"It was about six-thirty when I met him, near the creek. There's a tree there with a triskele painted on it. He told me...he told me...-" Rafael reflected on Peter's words about Paige with a swooping feeling in his stomach and swallowed. Stiles' demanding voice brought him back. "-He lied to me, about how Paige died. He said...Jesus Christ, Stiles, he said he was going to 'make me the hero' to Scott! What the hell is he planning?"

"Why the hell should I know?! Wouldn't be in this situation if you'd stayed the hell away from him like Lydia told you too!"

"I'm sor-"

"Don't _even._ I'm on my way to the hospital. I need you to get Derek out-"

"Stiles, I can't, he's-"

"I legitimately don't care. Just get him out of there, right freaking now, okay?! Stay there, I'm on my way" Stiles hung up then, leaving Rafael with a stone in his stomach and the powerful need to throw up. He managed to get to the tiny bathroom sink and heave bile for a couple of minutes before he changed his clothes. He was lacing his shoes and trying to get his phone to work when Stiles swung into the room, a hand curled on the doorframe. His hair stuck wildly around his face like a black halo, a hickey blooming on his neck, sneakers unlaced and t-shirt inside out.

"D'you hear about the guys who blew up the store?" he demanded.

Rafael stood, grabbing his jacket. His suit had been taken for evidence and he was dressed out of the lost property box, with a scrubs shirt and sneakers that pinched.

"Yes, I heard. That's where your Dad is"

"No shit. It was a set up. He's on his way back, but he's still a few hours away. We're going to the lock-up and you are bailing Derek the fuck out" Stiles ordered and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"I have to be released"

"It's taken care of. Come on"

Rafael didn't even bother to ask _how_. It was an increasingly familiar stance. He just followed Stiles out, into the car park and into the Jeep. He was dialling a number even as he slammed Roscoe into gear and tore out of the lot, leaving a trail of black and the smell of burned rubber.

"Danny, it's Stiles-" he cried as somebody answered. Rafael stared at him. He looked guilt-stricken and determined all at once. "-Look, man, I am about to ask you to do something massively illegal, again, and I'm sorry but it's important..." he trailed off as Danny replied. The tinny voice that Rafael could just catch sounded smooth and unaffected. Whatever he said made Stiles slump in relief, tapping the back of his head on his headrest. "-Track Scott's cell and send me the location, okay?"

_"Ookayy...this wouldn't have anything to do with Ethan acting weird would it?"_

Stiles froze and looked sideways at Rafael, who shook his head. He didn't know if the twin omegas were involved at all.

"Ethan...no, I...dammit, I don't know. Just find Scott, okay? And...-" a nerve jumped in Stiles' locked jaw. "-Danny, keep your doors locked okay?"


	13. Frayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall and Stiles go after Scott with nothing more than a signal from his mobile.

He  was wading through red tape and consequences when he saw Stiles out of the corner of his eye, shouldering his way into the Sheriff's office. He excused himself from the baffled, red-faced knot of people, all wondering why he was attempting to free a man that only two days ago he'd dragged in for murder. He ducked inside the office and pointedly shut the door behind him. At the desk, Stiles had thrown open a map of the county and had his phone in one hand, scanning along the longitude with his other.

"Wha-" McCall began.

"Danny got a signal from the woods. Scott's phone. Nobody can find him. Can't find Isaac either, and when I tried Lydia, her mum said she was asleep"

McCall glanced at his watch. "It's five pm"

"You don't think I _know_ that?! Something is seriously wrong here, but I gotta deal with one _freaking_ thing at a time! Firstly, Derek. Then Scott and-did you get Derek out or not?"

The Agent was momentarily stunned by Stiles' brisk, businesslike—no _military_ -like—attitude and had to shake himself and the lingering cloud of concussion and painkillers before he could reply.

"I'm working on it, Stiles, but-"

"No! Okay, no. We don't have time for you to be working on it! Scott is missing, you said the one guy on the planet who wants him dead the most, took a chunk out of your stupid, thick, dumb, bony skull, so how about you just-" his phone vibrating in his hand cut off the epic rant that was gathering momentum. Stiles stared at it for a second and then flailed, fumbling the call button and pressing it quickly to his ear. "Cora! Wh-. _..OhmyGod_ , is she alright?!...fuck, just-fuck! Just stay there, Danny and I think we know where Scott...Jesus, are you sure? Are you sure it was Aiden?...-" the phone still pressed tightly to his ear, Stiles looked blanched and winded as his head dropped, chin dropping to his chest. "-Then Peter got to them. He got to both the twins. Danny said Ethan was acting weird and...Cora, you don't have any back-up! Come to the station okay, McCall is going to _get Derek out_ -" he said this straight to McCall, fierce and dark, and reluctantly, the Agent nodded, turning to leave the room.

He didn't like the tone Stiles was using, the way his shoulders had wound tight. Something was more wrong than it had been only a moment ago. "-and you can find them then. Cora, please! Please, for _me_ , we don't know what's going on, we don't know what he's planning, and we have to find Scott before Peter gets to him. Just get here" He hung without another word, pressed the phone clenched in his fingers to his mouth and stared down at the point he'd marked with his fingertip on the map.

"Stiles...?"

"Aiden drugged Lydia. She's out to it, and Cora can't find Isaac or Allison anywhere...we have...Scott...I gotta...I gotta find Scott, and we have to...goddammit, where the hell are they?" he muttered madly, taking a picture of the map before pushed his phone into his pocket. He sounded half drugged himself, terrifyingly young when his large brown eyes met McCall's, for all that his was the one voice of reason that McCall had reached for when he awoke.

"Get Derek out of here. Him and Cora can track Isaac and Allison when they get here. I'm going to find Scott" he demanded.

"You're not going alone!" cried McCall, catching the boy's arm. Stiles threw him off.

"What choice do I fucking have?! I gotta find Scott, alright? And Allison and Isaac, and somebody has to make sure Danny and Lydia stay safe, and Melissa- _shit_ , Melissa!-" his face looked suddenly stricken.

Rafael grabbed his shoulders and hung on this time.

"Melissa's working a night shift, and I already told hospital security to keep an eye on her" Rafael cut him off.

Stiles paused and squinted at him until the Agent dropped his hands from those young, broad shoulders.

"One of these days-" Stiles informed him with the point of his finger. "-you and me are gunna have a really long talk about what the hell your angle is. Until then, get Derek out of here. Whatever's going on...Derek and Cora gotta find Isaac and Allison. I dunno what Peter's planning, but he won't hurt Cora. That's actually the only thing I know about him right now. If she's with them, that might slow down whatever horrible, diabolical thing he has planned"

Rafael didn't bother to ask how Stiles knew that. The teenager's fingers were trembling in a way he recognised, like Stiles was seconds from a panic attack again. He swallowed and left the office. It was only when he was informing one of his own field agents that he needed Derek's cooperation that something hit him. 'A threat to those he holds most dear' Peter had said. Automatically, Rafael had assumed that meant Allison and Isaac, his son's lovers, or at least Melissa. He rushed over the rest of the protocol and then headed for the door at a jog while one of his agents went to release Derek. He caught Stiles at the door of his Jeep and grabbed the edge of it before Stiles could slam it shut.

"Stiles? I'm coming with you" he informed him sternly. Stiles looked impatient.

"Are you _kidding_ me right now?! Fuck it, fine! We do not have time for this, let's go" he snarled. He peeled out of the lot while Rafael was still clambering into the passenger's side. They twisted onto the main road, Stiles' hands tight on the steering wheel, when a mobile rang.

"Fuck! That's the Pack phone. In the glove box" Stiles ordered breathlessly, eyes wide as he tore his attention between the road and the ringing mobile. Rafael scrambled to answer it.

"It's Allison" he breathed out, staring at the caller ID.

" _HolyshitthankGod_!" Stiles yelped in reply.

"Allison?!" McCall asked into the receiver. 

"Oh G-God, G-God p-p-pleaase! _Please_ help, please-" the huntress' voice sounded pained and high and far too young. Rafael's heart pounded and he forced himself to be brutally calm.

"Where is-" Stiles shut up when Rafael gestured violently for him to do exactly that.

"Allison, I need you to calm down for me. I need you to breathe. Then I need you to tell me exactly where you are. Can you do that for me?"

"I-I-I'm w-er, um, I think-oh _God_ , I think...the bank. Help me, I think we're at the old bank and...-" her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "-they're coming. Oh _Jesus_ , please hurry"

The line cut out.

"The bank. She just said the old bank" Rafael said.

"Fuck!" screamed Stiles, punching the steering wheel hard enough that the car swerved. "Did she sound hurt? Was she okay?" he demanded, pulling the vehicle back into his own lane. A car passing them beeped angrily and was ignored.

"She sounded hurt" Rafael admitted reluctantly.

Stiles' jaw clenched so hard Rafael heard the teeth crunch.

"We can't do anything about it. Text Cora, tell them to go to the bank, and we'll meet them at Lydia's if we don't find Scott"

Rafael did as he was told as they screamed onto the last sealed road before they turned off onto the dirt track to the Preserve. Stiles had his phone propped against the wheel, brow furrowed and lips moving over the shapes of the coordinates. When he hit the brakes, he did it so hard Rafael's head hit the dashboard.


	14. Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall has a new experience with the supernatural. More BAMF!Stiles ahead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, told a lie about this being before 3B. Stole elements of this chapter from Season 3B. Because aawwwwwe-ssomme.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ Stiles!" McCall shouted, holding his head where it had just impacted the dashboard of Stiles' Jeep.

Stiles himself said nothing. He was taking his bat out of the back seat and getting out of the car. Rafael reeled for a moment and then looked out the windscreen. A figure stood in the middle of the road in a striped hoody, arms folded, shadows cast by the setting sun and Roscoe's headlights turning its sharp, pale face into a mask. Fumbling for the catch without looking, Rafael poured himself out of the vehicle.

"Well you know how to pick a face, asshole. Seriously. Ten points for that" Stiles said dryly.

The figure laughed. Rafael's blood ran cold. He-it-the _thing_ looked exactly the same as Stiles. At first glance, of course, but a moment later when his brain stopped screaming in horror, Rafael recognised just how much this thing was Not-Stiles. He had a dark, hungry smirk curled up on it's face like smoke, eyes dark with intent and malice and confidence that oozed off his shoulders like blood from a wound that had bled for too long.

"Well, we thought to ourselves...who is the _weakest_ of the Pack? Who do they look right through?" leered the nogitsune. Stiles' hands tightened on the bat.

"Where's Scott?" he asked.

"Oh, I'll tell you...but first you have to answer my question"

"Ha-ha. Or, I could not, and you could just tell me where my friend is before I turn your freakish body into wolf chow, okay? How's that for a-a-a question?"

The angle of Not-Stiles tilted neck was beautiful as he smirked knowingly, power in his every motion as he stepped closer. The real Stiles held his ground determinedly. Rafael was frozen with indecision.

"When is a door...not a door?"

Rafael was confused, but Stiles just snorted and shook his head.

"Seriously? This crap again? You know, the only thing I can deal with right now is that you're actually asking me in a language I speak. Which is a big step up from, you know, my messed up subconscious"

"That doesn't answer our question" Stiles leaped forward and swung out hard with the bat. The nogitsune punched him and Stiles swung again in the time he had before Not-Stiles snatched the bat in one hand and shoved Stiles in the chest with the other. He flew backwards and slammed hard into the bumper bar of the Jeep. Rafael was shocked into action and lifted his piece, stepping out from behind the relative shelter of the open door.

"Freeze! FBI!" he ordered instinctively. On the ground, wheezing from the blow, Stiles coughed out something that sounded like an incredulous _Are you freaking kidding me?!_ In the next second, Rafael was facing down the black eye of his own gun, hovering in the air, completely unassisted, in front of his face. Not-Stiles was sneering, watching him, and everything about him signalled imminent death.

"Ajar! A door is not a door when it's ajar!" Stiles shouted hoarsely, getting to his feet, taking the nogitsune's attention away Rafael.

The creature smiled, the gesture unravelling like a frayed noose.

"Everyone has it but no one can lose it" it hissed then, stalked in a predatory semicircle around Stiles' prone figure. The human was panting, looked at Rafael for an answer, but the Agent didn't know. He shook his head helplessly.

"Everyone has it but nobody can lose it" The thing wasn't speaking with Stiles' voice anymore. It was a low, deranged hiss, accented and grating.

"I-I-I, God, I don't it's, ahits-"

"How's your leg, Stiles?" it enquired then, abruptly. The words jolted Stiles scrabbling for an answer.

"My-" He looked down at his stretched out limbs, still in the tangled position he'd landed in, and a god-awful, blood-freezing, curdling scream the likes of which Rafael had never heard erupted from his mouth. He screamed again and scrabbled in the dirt, teeth pulled back and everything in his form tensed from utter agony.

" _Stiles_! STILES!" Rafael roared, going to move and narrowly missing a bullet in the process. His own gun was still hovering on him. The nogitsune was speaking as Stiles' screams decayed to sobs. Whatever the trickster was making Stiles see, it wasn't really happening and Rafael didn't know how to stop it.

"We're trying to _save_ us, Stiles. We're trying to save your life. We thrive on chaos and the dead-wolf, the one who rose again, he brings us so much _strife_ " it told him, a lover's sigh.

"It's not real Stiles! Stiles, whatever you're seeing right now, it's not real! Listen to me! Listen to me!" McCall shouted, bracing himself for another near miss with the handgun. It didn't fire. The nogitsune laughed instead, high and cold.

"Hear that Stiles? Do you hear him shouting? It's not real"

"I-i-it's it's not-it's not r-r-real-"

The nogitsune was dragging it's fingers along the edge of leaves on the side of the road."Wasn't it on your _right_ leg, Stiles?"

Rafael watched as Stiles stared down at his legs again, terrified. His breath hitched and he fell back against the wheel arch of the Jeep with a croaky sob.

"Stiles, c'mon, buddy. Come on" Rafael urged him under his breath.

"Everyone has one but no one can lose it" the thing wearing Stiles face repeated once more.

"I-wha-God, I don't-I don't know, I don't know" Stiles choked. He sounded exhausted.

"Everyone has one but no one can lose it" Not-Stiles hissed, more agitated now. Eyes closed, body shaking, Stiles echoed it, and then slowly began to still. His breath slowed down. The nogitsune looked briefly confused. That's when Stiles' moved. His fingers reached out and grasped the cold reality of the bat's handle and launched it sideways off the ground and through the air, taking even the nogitsune by surprise. He moved like an animal and the gun dropped to the ground. Rafael grabbed it and levelled it towards the last place he'd seen the nogitsune. Stiles had launched himself up and driven himself and the thing wearing his face to the ground.

WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!

"You _fucking_ -" Stiles thundered his fist into the thing's face, straddling it's chest. His face was bleeding badly. "-cryptic son of a-" he continued as Not-Stiles threw them aside and dragged Stiles standing by the hair, keeping his struggling form between itself and the Agent with the gun. Stiles grabbed the wrist not holding him up and broke it. Rafael couldn't see how, but he heard the crack. "-it's...a...freaking... _shadow_!"

The nogitsune went down for the last time and Stiles plucked the bat from the side, levelling it down like a hammer on a strength game at a county fair. There was a terrible sound, and Stiles did it again. Rafael rushed him, stopping before he could do it again. Stiles sagged awfully against him and for a moment Rafael put aside the black nausea overflowing his veins, ice running through his heart at the thought of Stiles being seriously hurt.

" 'Freeze, FBI?'" Stiles ended up choking out.


	15. Nemeton

The night was cold, unnaturally so. The Jeep roared as flew through the trees, four-wheel drive engaged, bouncing across ruts, teeth crashing together painfully. Agent McCall had bloody fingers pressed to the roof as they fled, jaw clenched. The boy he'd known for so many years was gone. There was a fearsome creature in his place, it's eyes storm-dark with intent, a gun by his side and blood splattered all over his face from the beating he'd given the trickster. There'd been something brutally animalistic in his face when he'd straightened from the bloody smear of the nogitsune's face. McCall shivered and focused out the window, mind whirling. Stiles wrenched the steering wheel, switching gears, sent them screaming around a corner, and changed up again. He poured his fury into the car, driving hard and loose. Before McCall could say anything, he was cut off by Stiles' phone buzzing. The boy grabbed it, frowned at the unrecognised number and put it to his ear.

"Who the hell-?...ohJesus, _Scott?!_...Holy _shit_ , man, thank God, where-?...wha...are you...?!...-" Stiles looked sideways at McCall, horror etched into the moon-cast shadows on his face. "-Holy shit" he whispered and dropped the phone.

It bounced off the centre console and clattered to the floor.

"Wha-!" the cry was cut off from the front of McCall's teeth. Stiles hit the brakes with both feet. They twisted, fishtailing in the leafy undergrowth, and for the second time that evening, McCall slammed into the dash hard enough that he saw stars. He slumped back in his seat, holding his bleeding head. There was an ominous click and then the door flying open. A gun boomed in the small space, leaving McCall to fall sideways out of the Jeep half-blind through the blood, ears ringing, disorientated and in pain. He could hear Stiles shouting, and fumbled for his own sidearm, until he was grabbed by the back of the neck and tossed like a screwed up piece of paper, lobbed into the side of the car. Metal crunched and ribs cracked before he fell. The gun shouted out again, accompanied by footsteps as Stiles advanced around the bonnet of the smoking Jeep. He dropped the empty magazine, a fresh one in his hand, already rising up to the gun, when he was struck from the side, sent flying to the ground.

"Stiles!" McCall shouted groggily as he disappeared from sight. Shapes loomed in front of him and he struck out, quick and sharp and brutally efficient, before ruining the effect by stumbling around the front of the car and propping himself up on the bonnet.

"-way or another, you're dying tonight for this" Stiles was snarling, wet and broken. His attacker's back was turned towards McCall, and the muscles beneath the cotton shirt twisted as the man tossed Stiles to the ground. He went with a crunch that awoke a fury in McCall that surpassed all the pain. The figure crouched, snatched Stiles by the throat and dragged him upright. The teenager grimaced, wide and wild, through bloody teeth.

"I've had worse than this from an old man, jerk-off-"

McCall fired two shots from his side-arm before he was attacked and went hard to the ground. While the world spun and his empty stomach heaved in protest at it's intimate introduction to the toe of a boot, McCall could see Stiles through one eye. His other eye was shoved into the dirt, a weight between his shoulders keeping him on the ground. He tasted the loam and the mud and felt sand grains crack on his teeth as he heaved and struggled. Stiles was unconscious, his mouth slack and blood cascading down his temple, soaking his shirt and hair. In the silence that came then, the man who'd knocked his lights out straightened from his body and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I am suddenly very grateful that I didn't turn you when I had the chance" Peter informed Stiles' prone form, panting.

" _Peter_? What...what did you...? Nonono-"

"Oh, _yes_. Me. And, of course, my new allies. Pick him up, would you gentlemen?" Rafael struggled as much as he could as two sets of large, firm hands shot out and elevated him to his tiptoes. Swinging his head left and right, he recognised the stern profiles of Ethan and Aiden.

"You two! But...you...at the lacrosse field..." he muttered, squinting at Aiden through his swollen eyes. He felt Ethan's fingers twitch on his arm.

"Wolves die without a Pack, and the Pack dies without a strong Alpha" said Aiden firmly, his eyes fixed on Peter, who smiled.

"Such wisdom, so young. Now-" he turned and lifted Stiles up by the back of his collar like a pup, then scooped his legs up and cradled him. Stiles groaned, his head lolling boneless against Peter's forearm. "-If you don't mind, we have somewhere we need to be"

"No! Leave them alone!" snarled Rafael.

Peter ignored him. Rafael lost consciousness somewhere around then, while the twins dragged him forward by the arms. He came to when he was dropped unceremoniously to the leafy ground. He groaned and bit his lip, as somebody's foot rolled him onto his side. He struggled valiantly but uselessly as they took his gun. He lay still as the heavy footsteps moved away and came to a realisation that may yet save his life, his son's life and the life of his son's best friend. They hadn't taken the revolver in his ankle holster that was, with some assistance from one Chris Argent, loaded with wolvesbane rounds.

A roar that was poured out of fury into the shape of agony had him pushing himself, too fast, too hard, onto his elbows. A blur of bodies stilled, and the awful tableau opened up before him: Aiden had Scott by the throat, Ethan's claws buried in the muscles of Scott's shoulders, blood dripping heavy and red down his chest and soaking his torn jeans. Ethan's face was laid open, the wound healing sluggishly against the strike of an Alpha. Aiden tightened his fist on Scott's throat and the Alpha held his hands in the air; his arms were coated with splattered of blood. Peter, now assured his victim was contained, let Stiles' lax form rest on the huge tree stump, a sick parody of a fairytale peacefully asleep.

"If you've hurt him I will _kill_ you!" Scott snarled, so much anger in him that McCall felt sick again. He pushed himself up on his elbows and immediately sagged against the nearest stable thing; the trunk of a thin tree. Through eyes just slitted enough for a casual observer to think they were still closed, he watched what came next and waited with his heart in his mouth.

"Stiles has actually informed me that tonight is the night I die. I don't think I'm going to take his word for it, however"

"You're not going to win" Scott spluttered, levelling a fierce look at him. The blink rage was washing out of him, leaving something far worse in it's wake; a stronger, harder anger to be moulded and carved in a specific way.

"Forgive me if I don't agree with you. I won this the moment I won him" Peter looked lazily sideways at Rafael. Scott glanced to where the Agent lay on his side and saw the helpless, self-righteous fury and guilt steeped in the face that he saw sometimes when he stood at the wrong angle in the mirror. He looked away, zeroing in instead on the sound of Stiles' heartbeat.

"Scott, God, Scott, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, he promised me too, he said-"

"I promised he'd be the hero in your eyes and he leapt at it" hissed Peter, black amusement and spite. Rafael pushed himself to his knees, his plans forgotten.

"It wasn't like that, Scott he said he'd make it better for you! That we'd make this okay again, so you could just be a teenager-"

Suddenly Peter was on him, throwing him back. Scott shouted, loud and desperate and it warmed McCall strangely that Scott still cared. Peter's claws tickled his throat while a quick, cold hand scaled his calf and removed the revolver planted there. McCall swore and kicked half-heartedly at the werewolf, who stood holding the gun on one finger.

"Next time you leave a prisoner with wolvesbane bullets, I'll shoot you both with them, is that outstandingly clear?" enquired Peter primly, too calm by far for McCall's liking as he cursed himself out and rolled back against the support of the tree trunk. Sensing the same, the twins shifted and nodded. Peter tossed the gun over his shoulder and then waved his hands. They released Scott.

"I think it's time we had a little chat, Scott. Sire to cub" he said then, pleasantly.

"Burn. Alive. _Slowly_ " hissed Scott through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I have. Twice, if you'll remember correctly, and the second time almost directly thanks to this young man...right here..."

McCall held his breath as Peter dragged a single claw over Stiles' exposed throat. Scott was frozen too, his fury buried by the more direct fear. Unaware, Stiles made a light groan and didn't move. He was struggling back to consciousness, the effort in his twitching fingers and dancing eyelids.

"Give it to me, Scott, and everything else is yours" tempted Peter, softly now, his eyes on Stiles almost hungrily. It was skin-crawlingly creepy.

"I don't...how? I don't know how...what...you'll kill them. You'll kill them all" whispered Scott and his knees went out from under him. He fell to the forest floor and tried to stand again. Ethan, instincts askew, moved to help. Scott threw him off and looked at Stiles.

"I would never!-" At Scott's almost laughably disbelieving squint, Peter reluctantly corrected himself. "-Okay, I would. But I'm not going to. What I'm going to do, Scott, is make all of this, okay again. You can go back to school, concentrate on your studies-come on Rafael, tell him. This is what won him over, you know? That you could be just a _normal_ teenager again. Excepting of course, on full moons, and let's be honest we both know how much easier it would be to handle a full moon with only your Beta abilities to worry about"

Scott was silent, staring immovably at Stiles.

"What do you want, really? And don't tell me that you want what's best for me, or whatever, because you don't do things if they don't help you" he spoke at last, tired and numb and furious at once. Peter smirked.

"I want your power. I want all of it. To take back this territory, to take my _revenge_ " snarled Peter now, advancing on the young Alpha, who stood his ground.

"You took your revenge. Kate is dead. If you kill me, they will never stop hunting you" Scott said, half-pleadingly, half-warningly. Peter laughed, manically now.

"I want them _all_ dead, Scott. My whole family burned and now they're going to burn"

"I won't let you touch Allison" Scott growled immediately, instinctively, his eyes bright red again. Peter's own flared blue.

"Allison? Oh, you don't need to worry about _Allison_ "

Scott froze, a gasp clouding his mouth that sounded like a vehement no. Peter smirked.

"What did you do to her? What did you DO TO HER?!" he made as if to leap forward and the twins echoed snarls wouldn't have stopped him. However, Peter's claws coming to rest on Stiles' collarbone jolted him to a complete stand still.

"Come on, Scott. I wouldn't hurt her myself, but I would absolutely let your beta boy-whore do it for me"

"Jesus Christ.  _No._ No! You tell me where they are, you...-" Scott was shaking, a grey mess of bloodied terror. "-You can kill me, okay? Just let Stiles go, tell Stiles where they are, and you can do whatever you want-"

"I don't have to _kill_ you to become Alpha, Scott. I don't even really need your permission. But I want your Pack, as well as your power. And for that, I need your _loyalty_ "

That startled everyone.

"What?" Scott gasped. 

Peter shook his head, slowly.

"You're right, Scott. They wouldn't stop. My nephew? _Stiles_? No, if killed you there is not a corner of the world that I could turn to that would hide me for long enough. I want you to _give_ it to me"

Scott shifted. When he looked up again, his eyes had returned to brown.

"I don't know what you mean" he said stiltedly.

"Your Pack. Your power. Your loyalty"

A curse slipped past Scott's blanched lips and he stepped away from Peter's proud forward march. He swung so the twins would step away and then turned to face Peter once more.

"I can't- I don't know how!"

"Same way you got them. Luck and chance and sheer, bloody willpower. It's quite a Pack, Scott; a banshee, a Spark, two of Deucalion's own chosen, a huntress, even a kitsune. So much power to be had. Too much, isn't it? I know you feel it, Scott, shifting under your skin and you _hate_ it. Hate being reminded that you're anything other perfectly _human_ " he spat it like an insult and Scott recoiled.

"Kira's not my Pack. I thought…there were nogitsune. She said she and her grandfather-" Scott muttered.

"Said they would summon the Oni and deal with the dark and terrible tricksters themselves. I really don't know why people go on about them so much. The nogitsune and I have had nothing but good times together, really-"

Peter didn't quite turn fast enough, and the knife scraped hard against his collarbone as he twisted and tossed his assailant. The twins moved too; heading for McCall, who'd watched in abject terror as Stiles came too, assessed the situation, then stood and moved with the glint of a blade in his hand. They were stopped, short and painfully, but flashes of lightning bright and brilliantly. Stiles moved like the shadow from a riddle half-told on the wrong side of the moon, and before he'd even hit the ground, there were gunshots cutting the sky in half.


	16. Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice is served.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up on discussion of date-rape drugs, friends.

There was actual, literal _smoke_ that had to clear before anyone moved. Claws and fangs bared, bristling in his beta-form, Scott let the scene before him play out: There was Kira Yukimura, her bronze eyes still glowing and blue sparks making jagged ribbons on the steel of her katana, blood sizzling on the metal. The twins lay at her feet, dead or alive, he didn't know. Peter lay face down, unmoving, the back of his head a bone-shattered mess of gore, smoking as wolvesbane sank into the mortal wound. Beyond him Rafael stood with his gun still raised. Stiles was where Scott fell to once he'd registered the threat was gone.

"Stiles? Stiles?! Oh my God please be okay, please, God you're hurt, you're-"

" 'm fine. S'methin's wrong with my arm. Wha' happene'?" he grunted, one bloody hand curling around Scott's searching fingers. They clung to one another and dragged one another to their feet. Stiles' left arm hung limp and useless, the angle wrong from the collarbone down. Rafael put the gun away and met them in the middle.

"He's dead" muttered Stiles. He was leaning heavily on Scott and holding his sleeve to his still- bleeding temple. Scott stared at Peter's unmoving corpse and made an awful, choked sound. Stiles called his name as Scott tore away from him and fell into the blood-soaked dirt beside the body.

"FuckfuckFUCK! Fuck!"

"Scott-"

The Alpha flung himself to his feet and launched himself at Rafael.

" _You killed him_! He's dead he's dead he's-"

It took Stiles and Kira to drag him off the Agent.

"He was going to kill you!"

"Scott what the hell!-"

"Get a _grip_ , come on-"

"HE'S GOT ALLISON AND ISAAC SOMEWHERE LOCKED UP AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE!" Scott screamed, making everyone go still. Scott stared, panting, at his father, this man who'd given him his hair colour and had just killed a man for him, and wanted nothing more than to shake him till his head came flying off like something from a cartoon.

"They were in the basement of the Hale house, calm down! They're okay, McCall, for the love of-they're fine!" that was Kira, all her usual cheery sweetness gone, standing firmly between the two McCall's. As Scott gaped at her, Stiles groaned and sagged, and Scott was only just quick enough to grab him.

"Jesus, Stiles? Wha-your arm" Stiles took a deep breath and drew away, waving him off.

"It's fine, shoulders wrong. Dislocated, I think. Really, _really_ freaking hurts. Like you would not even know, man. We gotta get the Jeep and -"

"You're going to a hospital first. Sit down. I...we'll get your Jeep. Just sit down" Scott ordered, trailing off as he looked at all the loose ends milling around. His heart was still pounding. There was cold, slick blood—Peter's blood—crusting his knees, and his shoulders stung as the wounds from his skirmish with the twins began to heal. Kira stood awkwardly to one side, standing over the twins, who were just beginning to stir. They needed to burn Peter's body, and he realised that at some point, he and Rafael needed to sit down and talk. He dreaded it, and put it away for now, approaching Kira instead. She watched him approach, warily. She'd sheathed her katana.

"Thank you" he said, and meant it. To his surprise, she shook her head, looking down at the blade in her hands.

"Don't. Thank me, I mean. It was my grandfather. He summoned them-" she looked out to the distance, into the dark. "-bought them here, to Beacon Hills. I...your...your, Allison and Isaac. The twins locked them in the basement, but it was nogitsune that bought you here. _Sofu_ said that foxes and wolves don't get along, that I shouldn't answer to you" The guilt sat heavily on her shoulders. Scott looked away, his heart heavy in his chest. The tricksters hadn't bought him here, they'd _chased_ him. For hours. He'd thought it was Gerard, demonic, rotting, feral, and he'd been running scared. When he'd emerged at the Nemeton, the vision had disappeared and he'd been left standing in the clearing, eyeing the tree stump that he was sure was responsible, and realising that his phone was gone.

"I'm sorry" he decided on.

"I can...if there's a way, to break the oath-"

"There's not. I asked. That's why _sofu_ wanted to...that's why he summoned them. I..I'm the one who's sorry, really. Isaac and Allison are-"

They both looked up at the sound of the Jeep's engine, still a fair way off, but approaching fast.

"You better get rid of them before Isaac comes through those trees" Kira suggested with a tilt of her head.

Scott chewed his lip and stared at the twins on the ground. Ethan stirred and rolled onto his side, holding the deep wound in his chest. He nodded and waited until both the omegas were on their feet before approaching, Kira at his back.

"I want you gone. Both of you. Tonight" he said harshly. 

They looked at each other. Ethan looked small.

"Scott, listen, you can't do this-"Aiden said hotly.

"I wanted to trust you. I tried to trust you. This is where we are after me trying to trust you!"

"But Deucalion-" started Ethan, hesitant. Scott turned his back. He looked to where Stiles was leaning on a tree, waiting for him with Rafael, who had Stiles' shirt pulled up and was gently probing his bruised ribs.

"We'll be dead in a week, McCall, you bastard. He will kill us. We only ever went with him because we wanted to be safe!" Aiden roared.

"Keep your phone" Scott answered, over his shoulder, his voice silk strong. When neither of them answered but for a questioning sound, he turned slowly. "I can't have you in my town, but that doesn't mean I want you _dead_. Derek knows some Packs down south, in Texas. You'll make it. Deucalion might find you, might even kill you, but Isaac's coming and he _will_ kill you. I won't stop him. What did you give Lydia?"

"Just some stuff a guy gave me" said Aiden weakly.

"What. Stuff" Scott snarled.

"Rohypnol, okay? It was roofies"

"I want the name of the guy who gave it to you and I want you so far gone before I change my mind" Scott's voice was rough as his eyes bled. Aiden nodded and gave it. He and Ethan disappeared into the dark as headlights sliced brokenly through the woods. Scott watched them go, his anger shuddering in his lungs. Then he turned and addressed Kira.

"I don't blame you for this. You came through for us in the end, that's all that matters to me" Scott said seriously.

She shook her head again, pawing the handle of her katana as she watched the approaching Jeep. " _Sofu_ is all I've had. He raised me. But he's wrong, about wolves-" she took a deep breath and looked at him. There was a shadow of hurt in her eyes. Young pain, the pain of a broken heart. "-I don't...before you think it's because of you, because of how I fe-felt...about you. It's not. We're tricksters. Not killers. He forgot that. He should never have decided to work with somebody who rose from the dead-" she looked then at Peter's body and suppressed a shudder. "-There are stories I've been told, things I can do. To make sure it won't happen again" she offered then.

"Okay. I-"

"Scott!" Allison called out his name from across the clearing. Scott's every muscle turned to water and he managed to give Kira a weak apologetic glance that she pointedly turned away from before he jogged across to meet his lovers. He kissed Allison and then Isaac, and kept a hold of the Beta's hand.

"They're gone, before you say anything. And we need to get Stiles and Agent McCall to hospital" Isaac's eyes were gold as they flicked over the tree line, nostrils flaring.

"Isaac, come on" Allison pleaded. Her arm was bleeding badly and she had the uneven wobble of a concussion. Scott kept one hand wrapped around Isaac's waist now as he tilted her chin up so he could study the lump on her head. Not liking either the size or the colour of it, he squeezed Isaac's hip.

"Babe, we gotta get them to Mum. We gotta go, babe" he murmured, the moniker the one thing that could always, always get Isaac to give in. Sure enough, he snarled and swung around, taking Allison in his arms and steering her into the back of the Jeep.

"Kira and I are gunna get rid of _that_. We'll meet you in town" Scott said to Stiles, helping him into the back too. 

"Is that Peter?" asked Isaac, eyes widening slightly as he leaned through the window on the driver's side, staring at the form on the ground. Scott nodded.

"I'll stay too and help" said Rafael eagerly.

"You look like shit. Go home" ordered Scott, rude and abrupt, running low on patience, and turned away. He heard Isaac chuckle grimly.

"You've been dismissed, Agent. Get in. Let's go"

* * *

 

"-concussion, fractured ribs, couple of broken teeth, fractured cheekbone, jaw, eye socket, dislocated shoulder, sprained wrist, more bumps and bruises than I can be bothered to catalogue-"

"Lazy" coughed Stiles in the middle of Melissa's tired rant.

He could feel Cora by his side, and knew the tone that Melissa was using well enough to know that Scott was in the room, and everything was warm and white and soft. 

"Missed you talking crap Batman" murmured Cora into his knuckles. He made a strained, sleepy sound something like a chuckle. Familiar, craggy hands stroked his forehead. He didn't quite feel like waking up and dealing with the shitstorm brewing just outside his consciousness.

"You don't have to wake up yet, son" soothed the Sheriff. 

He must have said some of that aloud. With his father's permission, he might as well succumb to the warmth and sleep.

"S'Pac'mkay?" he slurred out, not wanting to crack his eyes, but alert enough to know he wouldn't rest properly without knowing that.

"Everyone that counts is fine. Go back to sleep so we can get some peace and quiet" ordered Derek, rough and easier than he would have been able to manage a couple of years go.

Stiles made a happy, cooing sound and snuggled back into his hospital bed, sloppily kissing Cora's fingers before he passed out again. She rolled her eyes but she kissed the warm scent on his pulse anyway. The next time he woke up, properly, there was only Allison in the room. She had gauze enveloping her left arm and a patch over a nice bloody lump on her forehead, but she was in civvies and had a copy of some gun magazine propped on her knee as she sat beside his bed, chewing Red Vines.

"I need new friends. What kind of fucked up human being eats Red Vines?" demanded Stiles scratchily.

She laughed, because that's what Allison _did_ , and helped him with a few sips of water from a straw.

"Being human sucks" she informed him when he eyed her injuries.

His face softened immediately. Allison clung to her humanity almost as hard as he did.

"No it doesn't. What happened?"

She sighed and put the glass to the side. "Isaac and I went to check on Lydia. Ethan and Aiden were waiting for us. Told us Peter had done something to Lydia, and that we were all meeting out at the Hale house. I trusted them, Stiles. I did that. Isaac wanted to call Scott, go up and check Lydia's room for a scent, but I said there was no time. I-"

"We're passed this. This blaming ourselves crap? We're through with it, remember?" Stiles cut her off sternly.

She looked up him with soft brown eyes brimming with tears and pressed her hand to her mouth.

"Allison"

"I know. I know, but-"

"Everyone's fine, right? Derek didn't just lie to shut me up? Again"

She chuckled wetly at that and nodded slowly. "Lydia told Aiden if he ever breathed the same air as any one of us again, she'd skin him. She actually said she'd _skin_ him, Stiles" she looked disturbed by that.

"She wouldn't-" Stiles reassured and then grinned. "-She'd melt them in acid. Alive. Thought Scott told them to get lost?"

"Ethan wanted to say goodbye to Danny, who was at Lydia's" she explained, a little sad, a little grim, a little satisfied.

Stiles probed his face with a grimace as Isaac stuck his head in the door.

"About time you woke up" he grouched. Stiles would have glared at him but he couldn't be bothered. With some help from Allison he sat upright against the pillows and accepted another drink of water.

"The doctor's on his way to check you out" said Isaac, hovering at Allison's shoulder.

"Sounds kinky-ow" Stiles hissed, curling an arm around his ribs and sinking back on the pillows.

"They've left town, the twins. Scott and Derek had words with Mister Yukimura. Kira wants to stay, so she made him apologise. Sounds like we won't have any more trouble from them" said Allison, distracting Stiles as Isaac put his hand on Stiles' shoulder, refusing to look at his face and cheeks pink, his jaw clenched as he drew his pain away subtlety.

"How's Lydia?" Stiles asked, softly, looking at her.

"She's fine. Better. I think it'll take awhile to sink in, you know? But we're okay. You fell down a ravine, by the way. So did I. We called Rafael for help" Stiles frowned.

He was ignoring Isaac's hand on his shoulder, naked due to the lopsided sit of a surgical gown, because Isaac and Stiles didn't acknowledge it when they did nice things for one another. It was a special agreement of their mostly antagonistic relationship.

"On what freaking planet would I call him for help? Wait, does that mean he's here too?"

Allison nodded as Isaac drew away and sat on a chair on the other side of Stiles' bed.

"Yeah. He's next door. Scott's with him at the moment" Stiles looked up at the wall, squinting as if he could see through it. His scrutiny was interrupted by the on-call doctor walking in his door, the Sheriff. He felt better with Isaac's treatment and one of his Dad's hugs under his belt and they decided to release him the next morning. He asked, innocently, about Agent McCall and was told that he'd be fine.


	17. Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet after the storm.

“So back to DC?”

Rafael startled, turning away from his SUV to find Scott leaning on his bike with his arms folded, watching him with hooded eyes.

“For a little while...I thought, maybe...I might come back?” he hesitated.

Their conversation when Rafael recovered from his ordeal was abrupt and stilted. He’d told Scott for the first time why he’d left, about the night he’d thought he’d killed his son while drunk. Scott’s reaction had shocked the hell out of him, given him new reason to feel guilty...and fresh determination to try and repair their relationship. Scott didn’t believe him though. He thought he’d get to DC and never return. His expression was as guarded now as it had been that night in the hospital room. They’d reached a professional agreement in regards to the ‘containment of the Nemeton situation’: more of Lydia’s words in Scott’s mouth, Rafael had thought.

Which was why it was the Alpha of the McCall Pack, not his son Scott, who was reaching for his helmet before replying.

“We’ll be in touch, I guess. Drive safe”

When Scott kicked the stand down on his bike, his front yard and the verge were full of his friends’ vehicles. There was Stiles’ Jeep, Derek’s Cruiser and Allison’s Civic. He walked through the door and found Stiles elbowing Isaac, regardless of his sling, the smell of pizza and popcorn wrapping around deeper scents; home, happy, safe, warm, family, den. Scott raised an eyebrow as Isaac pinched a handful of popcorn anyway and then grinned when he saw Scott.

“Hey, we were waiting for you! Lydia’s on her way” Isaac announced. 

Scott laughed and hugged him, breathing in the heat of his pulse where it thumped evenly in his neck. He kissed his mouth briefly and turned to Stiles as his friend handed him a pizza box.

“Hey buddy” Stiles greeted and Scott wound an arm around his shoulders as they walked into the lounge room.

Allison was laughing, curled up barefoot on the couch and Derek looked thunderous. The ex-Alpha was wearing faded jeans with tears in the knees and a soft shirt, his hair longer, his mouth relaxed around his only half-serious scowl. Scott wondered when that had happened.

“What happened?” Scott asked. 

“Cora was just telling me about Derek’s first driving lesson” Allison grinned, beautiful despite her battered features.

“He drove through a fence” Cora explained, laughing.

Derek looked pained and glared at her. Scott bit back a laugh and put the pizza box down, handing Derek a plate to distract him. Lydia arrived a few minutes later, while Stiles and Allison bickered about what movie to watch, and Scott went to get the door. She smiled in the cool edged way of royalty everywhere, swooping to land a quick kiss on his cheek, and handed him a bag from the supermarket. Scott peered inside as she swept past him without her usual cloud of perfume. There were Red Vines and Cheez-Its and a large bottle of diet soda, because Derek didn’t drink normal soda. Following her as she kicked off her heels, he tossed the Red Vines to Stiles, who glared at him unamused and returned them to Allison. Lydia settled next to Isaac on the couch and flicked her feet onto his lap. He lifted his arms to accommodate her and shot her an irritated look.

“Remember that time you tried to kill me? Pass the popcorn” she said briskly, startling a laugh out of him.

Stiles was sprawled on the floor with Cora, having been banished there by Derek, who’d taken the armchair. Lydia, Isaac, Allison and Scott were crammed together on the couch; Allison curled up in Scott’s lap with her feet across Isaac’s, tangling her legs with Lydia. Speaking around a mouthful of Red Vines, Stiles argued with Derek about the movie choices. Cora ended up distracting him with a kiss so Isaac could scramble from under the weight of limbs on the couch to enter the fray and put Inception on before Stiles could get to his original series Star Trek DVDs. It dissolved into wrestling as Stiles whacked Isaac with a pillow until Cora discovered Isaac was ticklish and Derek’s laugh at the blond beta’s predicament lit up the room.

“You doing okay?” Allison asked softly into Scott’s ear, tucked into his shoulder. He watched Isaac cry uncle, then Stiles flopping on top of Cora and Isaac laying on top of both of them, sandwiching Stiles between the two weres. He chuckled at the way Isaac was so mindful of Stiles’ shoulder, the way he caged the human protectively, and breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and carefully cataloguing scents. Immediately, there was the tangy steel of Allison, the soothing blur of something like warmed wool blankets that came with her happiness, and Lydia’s scent fresh from the shower. On her bad days, she smelt like something terrible, something dark and terrifying decaying in the woods. Today, as she stifled a giggle into the back of her hand, all Scott could get from her was the richness of freshly turned soil in the spring, all life and flowers and dark, wet earth. There was the lavender and soap and kindness of his mother, gun oil and Old Spice from the Sheriff. He wondered when Stilinski’s scent had settled into the couch, into his den, and realised he didn’t care. He was just grateful it had, that it had drowned out the sharper, drier smell of his father.

It hurt still, watching Rafael’s back turn all over again, was a wound that would be open his whole life. He’d learnt to live without him once; he could do it again. He was torn between wanting Rafael around and being determined not to need him. The winning side of that inner conflict would make itself known depending entirely on Rafael's next move. If he came back, it would be easier for Scott to give him one last chance. If he didn't...well, everything he needed was in his mind in this moment, in the blurred scents of his Pack.

Derek smelt like ash and leather, but more now of the latter than the former. Woodsmoke and pine settled on his skin as he tossed pillows at the three still bickering on the floor, chewing on pizza and kicking his legs up over the arm rest of the chair, his boots abandoned on the floor. There were holes in his socks where his toes poked through. Cora smelt like leather too, but dust too; dry and old and weathered. Sometimes she smelt coppery and wet, like rust but not quite blood and Scott watched her fight a smile as Isaac yawned and seemed to give up, settling there on the floor with Stiles sprawled on his belly. Isaac looked back at him over his shoulder and smiled, bright and easy. He smelt like hot sand in the summer, like lightning and salt and sometimes like dank mildew and stagnant water. Allison’s steel and Melissa’s lavender mixed with the scent Scott couldn’t describe but that he knew was his own, had washed most of the rankness of the freezer away. Right now he was buried in leather and woodsmoke and earth and Stiles’ special brand of intoxicating sugar, turned pages and the unpleasant but reassuringly familiar spike of Adderall.

He breathed out and in again, and felt bunched muscles relax. He looked at Derek when he opened his eyes against and the blue-eyed Beta nodded, satisfied, before he ordered Isaac to toss him a pillow and settling in to watch the movie. Scott kissed Allison’s head.

“Everything’s better now. I’m okay” he told her softly. She hummed contentedly.

The McCall Pack den smelt like summer and spring, like the forest and a library, like American muscle cars and black leather jacket armour, like a battlement, like a blanket fort on a stormy night and secrets whispered between two boys, like lacrosse and graveyards and new beginnings.

“Smells good” muttered Scott into Allison’s hair.

“Hm?”

“Our den-smell. It smells good” he explained, eyes half lidded.

“Shh!” Cora ordered, throwing popcorn at him.

“You’re cleaning that up” said Stiles, muffled. He was at the bottom of a dogpile made of two; Isaac sprawled across his back and Cora using his side as an upright for her pillows.

“Shut up Stiles” Cora and Derek echoed one another.

Scott laughed before he could stop himself and felt the very last nerve unsnap inside of him. This was his pack, all together and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an open-ended resolution to the Scott-Rafael situation, I know, and I'm sorry because I know especially with short fanfics that open-endings can come off lazy and unsatisfying, but honestly every other way I tried to write this felt off. So instead, you get a frustrated ten-second snippet and a massive amount of Pack fluff. I might write more, I don't know. Cheers for readying anyway guys!


End file.
